


Game Theory

by grayimperia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Analysis, Character Study, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2019-10-14 04:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17501585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/pseuds/grayimperia
Summary: “Hey,” Ouma says. “How about a challenge?”Momota’s irritated expression drops just enough for him to ask, “What do you mean?”His eyes widen as Ouma reaches into the game board and draws the Momota shaped piece out of it. “Save Akamatsu-chan from herself.”-Momota and Ouma play the killing game.





	1. My Class Trial

Ouma can see how some poor, gullible test proctor glancing briefly at Momota would mistake him for a college graduate. At a cursory glance, he did appear older than his sixteen or seventeen years. Ouma had to admit he wasn’t sure of his exact age, and he felt the time to ask had passed. There was something inherently rude about reminding someone how young they were when they died.

Momota’s eyes are locked on the puzzle set between them. The eerie miniature of the school set to the scene of the first murder had mystified them both, but interacting with it on its own terms seemed more gratifying than interrogating its existence. Or at least, Ouma thinks that was their logic. The more he dwells on it, the dreamier the details leading up to this moment become. One part of him is convinced this is all in his head. Another part of him insists that has to be impossible as otherwise would imply he conjured up the image of Momota to argue with of his own freewill. 

But Momota is there, and he studies the game board while Ouma studies him. 

The truth is that Momota is handsome or at least close to it. If his illness had allowed him to live past his sixteenth or seventeenth year, there was little doubt the softness of youth would fade from his features, leaving something rugged and manly—or even downright dashing—behind. But the truth is also that the signs that he is a boy and not a man are written all over him, and they jump out to Ouma more and more with each observatory flick of his eyes.

Ouma banishes his previous thought and asks, “How old are you?”

Momota looks up at him, eyebrows knit together at his non sequitur. “Seventeen.” He pauses, his eyes more than giving away his attempt to decipher whatever trick must be in Ouma’s simple question. “You?”

“Eighteen.”

Momota snorts. “Yeah right. I change my answer, then. I’m eighty-two.”

Ouma laughs. “Aw, is it really that hard to believe? You’re gonna make me cry.”

“You’re like,” Momota waves his hands. “Fourteen—sixteen max.”

“Ooh, multiple choice—I like that,” Ouma says. “But really, why would I lie?”

“As if you’ve ever needed an excuse to lie before,” Momota says before turning back to the game. “Whatever. I barely believe you graduated middle school.”

“Rude.” A smile creeps over Ouma’s face. “Hey, would you say it’s impossible that I’m older than you?”

Momota has always been easy to read, but Ouma finds a special delight in seeing the face he wears when he knows he’s being tested. “I mean,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “You either are or you aren’t.”

“So it’s either impossible or it isn’t?” 

“For some reason, I don’t like it when you phrase it like that,” Momota says. “But yeah, I guess.”

“Buuut,” Ouma drawls. “If the impossible is possible, then doesn’t that mean both could be true?”

Momota gives him an odd look. “I thought you hated it whenever I said that.”

“Oh it’s the absolute worst, but it also presents an interesting quandary if you think about it for more than five seconds, which I am aware you have failed to do,” Ouma says. “Because you’re dumb.”

“I’m not dumb for not over thinking something to the point of insanity,” Momota says. “That’s your thing, not mine.”

“It is!” Ouma replies cheerfully. “And so I think we should consider that lies are impossible, which by your logic means that all lies could potentially be possible. Your move, Momota-chan.” 

Momota shakes his head, letting out a breath through his nose. “You really are impossible, you know that?”

Ouma thinks it is physically impossible to grin any wider than he currently is. “Ooh, bad move.”

“What do you…” Momota trails off, his mistake recognized, and his face is promptly buried in his hands with a barrage of curses. “Okay, fuck—you know what I mean.”

At the very least, Ouma has to admit, an afterlife of teasing Momota for all eternity isn’t the worst thing. Momota’s lectures in life had been aggravating at the best of times, but the thrill of piercing through his words, verbally backing him into a corner, and drawing out something far more real than the power of friendship from him was a pleasure Ouma had trouble confessing to. It would just be his little secret that conversations with Momota brought him any joy. The thought lent some credence to the idea that the Momota before him was just a figment of his imagination. But that was fine. He would be the only person hurt by the maliciousness behind that secret. 

Ouma trills, “You believe in me with your whole heart. Because all you have to do is spew some motivation phrases, yadayadayada, and presto! The power of idiocy overcomes all!”

“Hey, there’s nothing dumb about believing in yourself,” Momota says. “What’s dumb is convincing yourself stuff is impossible and just giving up without trying.”

It always makes Ouma smile just a little when the real comes out. It makes him smile more to keep pushing. Real Momota was fun. Frustrated Momota who stopped his feet and shouted dumb things without thinking was even funner. “Aw, does that mean you wouldn’t give up on me if I was impossible?”

“Of course I wouldn’t.”

Ouma stops batting his eyelashes at him. “Uh-huh.”

“What you don’t believe me?” Momota says. “After everything that happened?”

“Well, what is a little murder-suicide pact between acquaintances?”

Momota rolls his eyes. “‘Acquaintances?’”

“What, would you prefer ‘murder buddies’ instead?” Ouma asks. “Personally I do, because it’s like fuck buddies, but—”

“No—don’t want to hear it!” Momota waves his hands cutting him off. “Just…” he rubs that back of his neck. “You’re trying to change the subject, aren’t you? Come on, you know I’m not just the type of guy to give up on someone in need just ‘cause they’re a little—” he looks over Ouma “—a lot annoying.”

Ouma smirks. “Tell me how you really feel, Momota-chan.”

“I’m not apologizing for that.”

“Why? Because real men don’t apologize?”

“No, because I know you try your damnedest to being annoying as fuck.”

Ouma beams. “I’m glad you noticed! It’s nice to hear all my hard work be acknowledged. But still,” his smile shifts to something condescending. “I’m not a charity case, Momota-chan. And even if you want to fix me, it’s a bit too late, don’t you think?”

“No,” he presses his fists together. “It’s never too late, and I don’t want to ‘fix’ you either.”

“Oh, that’s what they all say,” Ouma says, leaning back in his chair and letting his feet rest on the edge of the strange miniature. “Come on, give me your five step plan towards becoming a Momota-chan clone.”

“I _want_ ,” Momota says. “To help—I don’t know what your enemy is, but I know you have one. All I wanna do is give you whatever I can to make sure you have the tools to fight it.”

“And…?” Ouma prompts. 

Momota pauses, resisting for only a second before saying, “Okay, fine, yeah, I would wanna show you how you’re wrong about a lot of shit and kind of stupid, but—”

“Did you just call me stupid?”

Momota blinks at him, taken aback by the genuine offense Ouma’s voice. “Yeah? You’re kind of an idiot sometimes, so—”

“I cannot believe _Momota-chan_ is calling me stupid.”

“It’s true!”

“No, it’s not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

Ouma breaks out into tears. “W-Why are you bullying me? I-I’m not stupid… M-My mom says I’m really smart all the time…”

Momota still falls for it after all this time. “H-Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, sympathy softening his normally gruff voice. “Being called an idiot kinda hurts my feelings too.”

“R-Really?”

“Really.”

“That has to be pretty rough given that you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

“Hey! You—”

“Surprise! It was a lie,” Ouma laughs. “I don’t even have a mom.”

Momota straightens his shoulders, puffing himself up to put his wounded ego back together. “Well then that means I can say that you’re a dumbass without feeling bad. Also,” he runs a hand through his hair, the old gestures of life still holding strong. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Ouma hums. “I do think we’re going in circles, but as I have no idea where we’re supposed to go—which means it has to be completely beyond you—I believe circles are fine.” He kicks his legs. “I do wonder if this is hell, though. Or at least your hell.”

Momota raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Personally, I’m having a great time, but I also get the feeling that an endless argument with me is your personal hell, right?” 

“No,” Momota responds with a snort. “If you think this is the worst possible torture for me, then you really are an idiot.”

Ouma pouts. “I said Idiot-chan isn’t allowed to call me an idiot.”

“Well, too bad.”

Ouma stares at him coolly. Momota always said the same words, but somehow had a talent for stringing them together in ways that forced Ouma to regard him with new eyes. An insistent memory of his own voice lavishing Momota with the praise of being marginally interesting rears its ugly head. Ouma asks, “Then what is Idiot-chan’s hell like?”

Momota gapes at him for a moment before directing his gaze back to the game board. “I already lived it.”

Ouma’s eyes flicker down. “Bit overdramatic, don’t you think?”

“It was your hell, too,” Momota says. “You told me yourself.”

Another irritating memory. Ouma’s head is thoroughly cooled after death, and there’s no threat the angry tears he had allowed in life will plague him again. “I definitely was being overdramatic,” Ouma says. “Being on your deathbed will do that to a person.”

Momota isn’t satisfied with that answer. Too bad, Ouma thinks. “I guess, but—”

“Also, there’s no way this was your hell,” Ouma says, sweeping a hand over the miniature. “Akamatsu-chan already claimed it.” 

Momota’s eyes drift to the piece representing Akamatsu. There’s fresh hurt in his expression as he grits his teeth, muttering to himself. “Damn it…”

“Did you have a crush on her?” Ouma asks.

“Wha—” Momota’s blinking rapidly at him. “No? Where the hell did that come from?”

“Well, you were starting to get all teary-eyed.”

“I was not!” Momota says. “And even if I was, that’s completely normal. She was a good person, and what happened to her fucking sucked.”

“True enough, but do you feel that strongly for everyone?” He taps Amami’s piece on his soon to be bludgeoned head. “What about dear Amami-chan?”

To Ouma’s displeasure, Momota doesn’t look half as uncomfortable as he had been expecting. “Yeah. I didn’t know him as well, but he was just some poor guy who got tricked by the mastermind. Who wouldn’t feel bad for him?”

There’s much to interrogate in his words, but Ouma keys in on one phrase in particular. “Amami-chan was tricked.” Ouma tilts his head. “How do you know that?”

Momota opens his mouth to answer then freezes. “I… I just do? You—”

“Also know for some reason, yes,” Ouma says. He reaches down again to flick the bookcase leading to the mastermind’s lair open. “I also know Shirogane-chan was hiding in here.” He’s aware he should find his sudden wealth of information much more worthy of questioning, but instead Ouma asks, “Do you feel bad for her, too?”

“Shirogane? I…” Momota says. His hand goes to the back of his neck. “It’s different, but yeah.”

“Even though she was responsible for killing your beloved Akamatsu-chan?” 

“For the last time, I don’t have a fucking crush on Akamatsu.”

“That remains to be seen, How-about-a-hug-chan.”

Momota flushes then. “I just thought she was really cool, okay!? And what’s wrong with wanting to give someone a victory hug?”

“‘Victory hug?’” Ouma smirks. 

“It’s a thing!”

“Momota-chan, I gotta level with you,” Ouma says. “You are a god-awful liar.”

“I’m not fucking lying!” 

Ouma giggles. “Hey, lover boy, how about a challenge?”

Momota’s irritated expression drops just enough for him to ask, “What?”

Momota’s eyes widen as Ouma reaches into the display and draws the Momota shaped piece out of it. “Save Akamatsu-chan from herself.” 

Ouma holds the piece out towards him, and Momota gives him a measured look before clasping it in his own hand. Neither of them need the rules of the game board explained. Its purpose was already hardwired into their heads the moment they came to. 

Momota places his piece in the game room. Ouma says, “Go back a bit further and invite me to the meeting, too. I want to see the fireworks when whatever you’re planning blows up in your face.”

“Shut up. That’s not going to happen,” Momota says. “And you can watch just fine from right there.”

He closes his eyes, lets out a breath and feels it all come back together. 

That horrible music was playing, and Chabashira was the only person who would help him bang on the door to tell Gonta to let them into the A.V. room. Her words are punctuated with each kick. “Boys always do things like this! They only ever think about themselves!”

Momota bites back the argument that Harukawa, Yumeno, and Angie were content to sit around and do nothing while the two of them tore their hair out trying to get them to survive the next hour. Instead, he steps away from the door with a sigh. “Just… don’t worry about it.”

“If we have to take a break, anyway,” Amami says. “I think I’m going to excuse myself to the bathroom for a minute.”

Momota hones in on him. “Nope. Everyone stays here. We can, uh, keep doing our plan without Gonta.”

“It’s still okay if you start without me,” Amami says. “I’ll be back in just—”

“Nope, everyone’s staying,” Momota says. Chabashira says something about his lack of reliability as he leaves her side to bodily stand between Amami and the exit. “You hear that freaky music? That means Monokuma’s coming, so we have to be ready.”

“We still don’t have a plan yet, idiot,” Harukawa says.

Momota falters. “That, uh—”

“Momota-kun, I promise I’ll be right back,” Amami says. “It’s really not a big deal.”

“You should never try performing magic with a full bladder,” Yumeno says. “Trust me, I know from experience.”

“Ah, thank you, Yumeno-san,” Amami says, not seeming very grateful at all. “Anyway, Momota-kun—”

Momota decides to abandon subtly and grabs Amami’s shoulders, steering him further back into the room. “We’re staying together, and that’s final.” 

Amami frowns, though he doesn’t push back. “Momota-kun, you don’t understand. I,” he glances at the others, “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“No, I do,” Momota says. “No one’s leaving this room as long as I have anything to say about it.”

“What does that mean?” Harukawa asks. “Are you holding us all prisoner here, then?”

Momota winces at her accusation and winces again when Chabashira says, “Wait! Was this all a trap to trick us down here so you could kill us? Tenko knew she shouldn’t have trusted—”

“Wha—no!” Momota says, spinning to face her. “I’m just trying to keep everyone safe!”

“Atua says this is a dire situation.” Angie clasps her hands. “Angie will be okay because she has faith, but everyone else—”

“Now is really not the time to recruit for your shitty cult!” Momota shouts. 

“Do not yell at her!” Chabashira fires back. “If you lay one hand on any of the girls—”

Harukawa stands. “Whatever. I’m leaving. If you try to stop me, there will be a murder before the time limit.”

She makes to leave, and Chabashira plants herself between Momota and Angie and Yumeno still standing to the side. None of them are in immediate danger, however, and Momota swivels his attention to Amami trying to slip out the door behind Harukawa. Chabashira stops her declaration of protection to scream when Momota tackles Amami to the ground. 

Amami isn’t strong, but he’s not weak either, and Momota’s tackle turns into clumsy wrestling almost as soon as he makes contact. “Just let me fucking help you!” 

Amami doesn’t waste his energy trying to respond, instead gritting his teeth as he shoves at Momota. He isn’t a trained fighter, but his actions are that of a desperate man. Momota grunts in pain when Amami manages to throw an elbow into his stomach. That alone isn’t enough to shake Momota off, but Chabashira uses the opportunity to yank him off of Amami and up on to his feet. 

Harukawa has already left and Yumeno and Angie are as useless in a fight as ever, but Chabashira’s hold is strong, and Amami manages to shake off his bewilderment enough to pull himself to his feet. He’s still gritting his teeth. Even flailing in Chabashira’s grasp, Momota recognizes the sheer determination in his eyes. “Amami-san!” Chabashira shouts. “Get out of here! Tenko will take care of him!”

Amami mumbles to her but keeps his gaze on Momota. “Y-yeah… What the hell was tha—”

“Let go of me! I’m trying to fucking save him!” Momota shouts, as Amami shambles to the exit, staring at like he’s a wild animal. “If you leave, you’re going to die!”

His words only make Amami pick up his pace. Breaking out of Chabashira’s hold is no small feat. Momota hears Angie say, “Dear, Atua, please help Kaito! He has lost his mind and is in need of guidance!” and is struck by inspiration. 

“Hey, Chabashira! Angie’s trying to recruit Yumeno into her cult!”

The fact that Angie hasn’t started making any moves in earnest to spread word of her god at this point matters little to Chabashira and her lazer focus on Yumeno. “What!?”

Momota’s coat ends up a casualty of his escape as he wrenches himself out of Chabashira’s grip, leaving her only with armfuls of purple fabric. Momota sprints out of the room, and shouts “Hey!” when he spies Amami with his hand on the door to the library. 

Amami’s eyes widen, and he ducks into the room. Momota wishes he had better footwear as his slippers skid off the tile floor in his efforts to keep up with him. He speeds after him, hearing Chabashira scream that a murder is taking place as she bursts through the door into the hallway. Momota can already hear Ouma giggling in his head as he thinks about how sloppy this rescue is going. 

In part, Momota has to applaud Amami’s determination to finish his mission as he doesn’t give up pulling at the bookcase until Momota charges into him again. Akamatsu’s camera flashes right at the moment when Momota dives for him. Their second fall to the floor is somehow even less graceful than their first, and Momota registers a sick pain in his face when Amami manages to throw his elbow back at him quicker this time. 

Chabashira once again tries to come to Amami’s rescue, and the three way struggle only ends when a shot put ball plummets to the ground a few feet from them with a resounding thud. 

Monokuma’s horrible music is still playing, but there’s somehow a moment of silence as they all take in the absolutely bizarre image in front of them. Momota lets out a sigh of relief, and rolls off of Amami and on to the ground beside him. 

Akamatsu and Saihara burst into the library seconds later to ask about the mastermind and stare at them in even more confusion. 

Akamatsu’s alive, Amami’s alive, Momota’s pretty sure his nose might be broken. He mumbles to his real audience, “I fucking did it, you piece of shit.”

Ouma’s giggling brings him back to reality. “Wow, you know I have to admit it, Momota-chan, you really know how to put on a show.”

“Shut up,” Momota says. He reaches up to rub at his suddenly pain free nose. “Anyway, that’s how I would do it. Except, uh, better.”

“Oh no, that was perfect,” Ouma says. “I have always been a fan of playing stealth games by going in guns blazing. Ooh, ooh, and seeing how the rest of the game would go when everyone thinks you’re a violent lunatic would be even better!”

“Listen, you don’t put in any shitty rules about being sneaky or whatever, so I did just fine.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t,” Ouma says. “Just imagine how angry poor Shirogane-chan has to be.”

Momota snorts as he sees her figure still posed behind the mastermind’s door. “Yeah, well, serves her right.”

“Poor Amami-chan is also probably angry,” Ouma says. “He tried so hard to valiantly save everyone, and this freak suddenly attacked him out of nowhere!”

Momota sends a glare his way that Ouma returns with a blithe smile. He sighs. “Wish he could have just told someone what the hell was happening.”

“But he couldn’t because he was terrified of us.” Momota raises an eyebrow as Ouma continues. “Oh please, you can’t be surprised about that. He told us himself when he first met us, and he had a point. How can you trust someone who can’t even trust themselves?”

“I trusted him,” Momota says. “He said he wasn’t a bad guy, and I believed him.”

“Hey, Momota-chan, I’m not a serial liar. Do you believe me?”

Momota frowns. “You know what I mean, and you also know that people who don’t have faith in themselves… those are the kinds of people who need someone to believe in them the most.”

Momota’s never sure what to think when Ouma’s eyes turn cool. “I didn’t know you were interested in playing Amami-chan’s prince charming, too.”

“I don’t even know what your problem is,” Momota says. “Why do you get so pissed off at the idea of people helping each other?”

Ouma waves his hand. “Whatever. By the way, there is one ball you dropped.”

Momota is hesitant to follow Ouma’s obvious tangent but directs his gaze to scan back over the game board. “What are you talking about?”

“You let Harukawa-chan wander off on her own,” Ouma says. “And given the first blood perk, the time limit, and me, Kiiboy, and Hoshi-chan all being alone, chances are she’d off one of us and go home.”

Momota furrows his eyebrows. “That’s bullshit. Harumaki wouldn’t do that.”

Ouma tilts his head. “And why not? Say whatever you want about believing in her, but the Harumaki-chan you just saw didn’t really seem all that choked up about Chabashira-chan trying to dislocate your shoulder.”

Momota goes quiet. Ouma’s about to chalk up a victory for himself when Momota says, “There’s a big difference between her not being my friend and her being a killer. Even before I talked to her, Harumaki never tried to kill anyone.” Ouma raises his eyebrows. Momota sighs. “Never tried to ‘become the blacked’ or whatever stupid shit Monokuma called it. Point is no one provoked her, so Harumaki didn’t hurt anyone.”

“So you’re declaring victory, then?” 

“Yeah.” Momota stretches out his shoulders. The pain had vanished as soon as he exited the game, but the phantom flashes still pull him to roll out his neck. “What? You gonna give me a grade or something? There’s nothing to debate, dude. I won.”

An end table carrying a tea set seems to have appeared sometime between his entrance to the game and subsequent exit. Ouma takes a calculated moment to sip from a cup. “Fine, but you get like a D.” 

Momota rolls his eyes. Ouma traces the rim of his teacup. Seeing Momota blunder wildly through the game had been entertaining, but Ouma couldn’t quite discern if his inital actions had been calculated or a stroke of idiocy. “Even though you like to whine about saving everyone, your goal was to save Akamatsu-chan. But you went after Amami-chan,” he says finally. “Why is that?”

“Really? That’s your question?” Momota laughs to himself. “Geeze, you really are an idiot.”

Ouma juts out his lower lip. “Why are you bullying me? I’m just trying to ask a question…”

“I know,” Momota says. “It’s just… funny. You call me naïve all the time, but you don’t seem to know a damn thing about people.”

He laughs again. Ouma keeps his expression cool as he debates the merits of pouring his tea over Momota’s head. “If you’re going to make outrageous claims,” he says. “You need proof to back yourself up. The best lies have just enough evidence to potentially be true, you know.”

“Fine, if you’re that upset, I’ll put it a different way,” Momota says. “You don’t really understand Akamatsu.”

Ouma regards him over the rim of his teacup. “Also a lie. Akamatsu-chan isn’t that complicated. She says she trusts people as much as a certain idiot we both know, but is slightly less of an idiot and fundamentally can’t commit to her own claims.”

“Oh, so you get to throw a fucking tantrum when I say you’re dumb, but—”

“She’s pushy and willing to do what she thinks is best for others without asking—also like a certain nearby idiot—but has a strong sense of justice,” Ouma continues. “That doesn’t translate to her not doing bad things, but just hating herself when she does. There,” he sets down his teacup. “That’s Akamatsu-chan.”

The implied _now who’s stupid_ at the end of his statement makes Momota roll his eyes. “Idiot, how can you say all that and not get why going after her would be a bad idea? Akamatsu had to do what she did. I wouldn’t take that away from her—no one could.”

“She had to commit murder?” Ouma asks. “Geeze, and here I thought you liked her.”

“I do like her—and not like that, dumbass,” Momota says. “I just know you gotta let people make their own mistakes. And besides, with the kind of person Akamatsu is, if I stopped her from doing anything, and someone else wound up dead, that’d probably tear her up just as bad as killing Amami.”

“Momota-chan,” Ouma says. “That mistake you’re talking about is committing murder, and if you allow it to happen, then you are an accomplice by inaction.” He sighs. “I am sorry it had to end this way, but you are under arrest.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“I do, and it’s very stupid,” Ouma says. “Although, I really shouldn’t be surprised. You were basically Akamatsu-chan’s personal cheerleader. I’d go ‘hey Akamatsu-chan, you’re hurting everyone with your dumb plans,’ and you’d go ‘oh my God, I’m so in love with you, will you sign my face?’”

Momota pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why I’m arguing with you about this.”

“Because you know I’m right, and it bothers you,” Ouma replies. “I said it when I was alive, and I’ll say it when I’m dead: Akamatsu-chan failed the moment she decided to kill. That’s it—end of story.” Momota gives a hard look. Ouma says, “You should drink your tea. It’s getting cold.”

Momota casts a weary eye over the tea set. “You really are naïve. Things aren’t black and white like that, man. If you just divide the world into killers and victims, you’re never going to understand anything.”

Momota takes a tea cup, and Ouma would think the image of him drinking from the dainty china would be amusing if he wasn’t currently brainstorming as many ways to kick him off his high horse as possible. Momota’s face screws up in disgust after he takes a sip. “Fuck, that’s bitter.”

“I know. It reflects my soul.”

At the very least, Momota’s expressions of exasperation are still funny. “You are a weird fucking guy.”

“Speaking of which!” Ouma says, eagerly kicking his legs. “I want a challenge now! It’s no fair that you get to have all the fun.”

Momota blinks at him. “You want to try to save—”

“No, no, that’s boring,” Ouma says. “Which is why it was perfect for you, but I need something with more pizzazz. Unfortunately, since you’re my opponent, it’ll probably still be a little boring.”

“Wha—how the hell am I your opponent?” Momota asks. 

“Because you’re setting up the challenge, duh,” Ouma says. “And I’m tired of playing Shirogane-chan’s game, so I want something new.”

Momota furrows his brow and regards him through half lidded eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Pick a new culprit,” Ouma says. “But don’t tell me who it is. Then I’ll do some investigating and figure out who killed Amami-chan in five seconds flat. No trial needed.” Momota opens his mouth, but Ouma jabs a finger in his face. “Oh, and no trying to be clever and making me the culprit. That would just be cheating, and you know how I feel about cheaters.”

Momota stares him down, slowly overturning his words. “Why do you wanna do something like that?”

“To test my abilities,” Ouma says. He kicks his legs. “And solving mysteries is super fun!” Momota hesitates a second longer. “And if you do stump me, I will graciously admit that you are right and I am wrong.”

Momota leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “What will you admit you’re wrong about?”

“Anything you want.”

Even with Ouma batting his eyes, it’s too much for Momota to resist. “Alright, fine. Just give me a minute.”

Momota stares hard at the game board. He’s silent for almost two minutes straight before he takes a deep breath and sets Amami’s piece on its side in the library. “You’re starting in the investigation. You should be able to figure it out if—”

“Ah, ah, ah, no hints!” Ouma says. “I only play on hard mode, you know. And, also I know you spent so much time humming and hawing over your little setup, but I don’t even need it to solve this mystery.”

“Wait, what?” Momota furrows his brow. “You’re not even going to try? Then why the hell did you make me—”

“No, I’m definitely trying, but I already have more than enough evidence because you’re my opponent,” Ouma says. “And that means I can narrow it down immediately. Me, your little sidekicks, Akamatsu-chan, and Gonta are already off the table. Since you’re trying to trick me, you’re not going to go with someone who you wouldn’t mind being the bad guy like Shirogane-chan or Shinguji-chan either, and I think I’ll throw Angie-chan in there, too.”

Momota clenches his jaw. Ouma’s smirk widens as he continues. “That’s already nine suspects down out of fifteen. I think I’ll rule out Yumeno-chan and Kiiboy, too, since we both know they’re too useless to believably commit murder, and this has to be a realistic mystery or it’s just not fair. And you probably have some dumb sentimentalism towards them because you never saw them die first hand.” He grins up at him. “How am I doing so far?”

Momota sighs, and his voice is dejected as he answers, “Thought you said you didn’t want any hints.”

“Which I’ll take to mean I’m right on target,” Ouma says. “So that just leaves Iruma-chan, Hoshi-chan, Tojo-chan, and Chabashira-chan. So instead of wasting my time investigating your little game, I just need to gather alibis for four people.” 

Momota doesn’t look happy, and Ouma shoots him a beaming grin as he enters the game. Momota staged things far enough after the body discovery that none of the others are panicking or moaning about the tragedy of the killing game starting. 

Amami’s still dead in the library, and there’s a noticeably clean shot put ball on the ground in front of Akamatsu’s trap. He takes a cursory glance around. There are two clean shot put balls. The other has rolled to a stop in front of the library side door. Ouma knows the specific trick Momota’s culprit used doesn’t really matter, but it’s interesting enough that it and the thoroughly beaten books on the shelf hiding the mastermind’s hideout draw his attention. 

He runs his fingers over one set of destroyed books. Tojo is still in library, and she calls out, “I was investigating that earlier, Ouma-kun. It appears someone—”

“Momota-chan, I said no hints!” Ouma calls out. 

Tojo stares at him for another moment then walks away as if their conversation never happened. Ouma grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Tojo-chan later.”

He can hear Momota’s annoyed sigh in his head as he surveys the room. Tojo is acting like a perfect little mannequin, but Saihara seems to be having some sort of fit to the point that Akamatsu is biting her lip instead of trying to comfort him. Instead of talking to them, Ouma takes inventory of his surroundings again. The camera that had been placed over the side door is smashed to pieces. 

Ouma raises his eyebrows at it, but turns to Tojo. “Okay, I’m ready for Tojo-chan’s account.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to report,” Tojo says. “I was in the dining hall with Iruma-san, Shinguji-kun, Shiroga—”

“Boo, you didn’t even bother changing her alibi?” Ouma asks. “How lazy can you be?”

Tojo gives him an odd look but stops talking, which Ouma takes as confirmation of the validity of his complaint. He skips over to Hoshi standing over Amami’s body. Amami’s head isn’t bashed in. There’s duct tape over his neck. “Did you really steal that trick from Shinguji-chan?” Ouma asks aloud.

Hoshi acts like he didn’t hear him. “The killer must’ve wanted to stop him from bleeding everywhere for some reason. Wonder if they moved him here…” He trails off, then looks up at Ouma, his entire demeanor changing. “You’re fine taking that hint?”

“Well, I don’t want to ruin all your fun,” Ouma says. “Anyway, Hoshi-chan’s alibi, please and thank you.”

Hoshi returns to normal. “Sorry, don’t have one. Was in my room even when he was killed.”

Ouma hums. “That’s fine. I see Momota-chan continues to be uncreative. Chabashira-chaaaaan! Where are you!?”

Hoshi lets out a very Momota like groan. “She’s in the fucking game room. You made me set up this stupid game. Would it kill you to actually try?”

Ouma places his hands on his hips. “I’ll have you know I’m trying very hard, and I’m almost done, too!”

As he leaves, he overhears Akamatsu say, “We should have just gone after him when we saw Amami-kun going down the stairs…”

Ouma files away the information and discovers Chabashira is exactly where he was told, looking annoyed as Angie keeps her hands clasped in prayer. “Chabashira-chan!” Ouma calls out. “How was your strategy meeting?”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you talking about, you—”

“Ooh, no strategy meeting. Bold move, Momota-chan. Anyway, what are you doing in here?”

“We are investigating!” Angie declares. “Atua guided Angie here, and now we are solving the mystery of the locked A.V. room door!”

“Tenko remembers it being unlocked when she first explored the school, but it’s locked from the inside now,” Chabashira elaborates. “Hey, you seem like the kind of gross, sneaky boys to know how to pick locks. Can you—”

“On it!” 

The door opens easily enough, and Ouma discovers a bloody machete and duct tape lying out in the open on the ground. Chabashira screams. Ouma says, “From the warehouse, I assume?” The glint of the machete’s blade gleams in his eyes. “Got to say, points for style.”

The side door from the AV room has been disturbed, forced open by someone strong, and the small splatter of blood on the ground in the center of the room answers all of his questions. Chabashira is still blathering on about something, but Ouma interrupts her. “Anyway, rest of your account, chop, chop!”

She stares at him wide eyed, but Momota’s programming does its work. “T-Tenko was with Akamatsu-san and Saihara-san when this weird thing in Saihara-san’s hand started buzzing, and—”

“You were in the classroom with them,” Ouma says. “Interesting. Why?”

“Well,” Chabashira says. “At breakfast, Tenko overheard Momota-san and Tojo-san talking about how much Saihara-san was hovering around Akamatsu-san and trying to get her alone. Tenko knew she had to do something when she saw him pull her into an empty classroom!” 

Ouma pauses. Then, “Okay. Mystery solved.”

He blinks his eyes and returns staring into Momota’s eyes. “That was fast,” Momota mumbles. “There’s no way you—”

“The culprit spied on Akamatsu-chan and Saihara-chan setting up the library,” Ouma says. “They knew about the camera and the sensor, but not the time intervals, so no need to find anyone who talked to Iruma-chan for information. Am I right so far?”

Momota sighs and gives him the slightest of nods.

“You honestly made this waaay too easy,” Ouma says. “They also probably spied on them in the warehouse, too, and were inspired by Akamatsu-chan stealing the shot put and grabbed one of their own, along with some other stuff. They saw Amami-chan go downstairs and then Chabashira-chan go to distract Saihara-chan and Akamatsu-chan from guarding the classroom. They used that moment to sneak down to the basement after him.”

Instead of becoming irritated like Ouma had been hoping, he grows more and more exhausted at each word. “Yeah, yeah…”

“They were able to get Amami-chan’s attention and drew him into the A.V. room where they killed him, then locked the door from the inside to delay finding more evidence. And since you are very uncreative,” Momota shoots him an evil eye that makes Ouma smile wider, “they used Shinguji-chan’s trick of taping up the wound to carry him to the library. From there, they avoided the other two cameras and destroyed the one that took their picture. After that, they threw a shot put ball they took at the door to the mastermind’s hide out to alert Akamatsu-chan and friends about what had happened.”

Momota shifts in his chair, looking thoroughly annoyed. “It wasn’t that bad a setup, was it?”

He’s irritated, but there’s no fire in his eyes. Ouma rests his chin in his palm. “The culprit isn’t Tojo-chan or Iruma-chan because they have alibis, and Chabashira-chan was manipulated into being a distraction, so it’s not her either.”

“Is Hoshi your final answer, then?” Momota asks.

Momota doesn’t look nearly as defeated as Ouma would want him to. “No,” he says. “It was whoever knew Akamatsu-chan and Saihara-chan were up to something.”

“Did you even talk to enough people to know who that would be?”

Ouma knows he didn’t. But he also knows Momota, and he knows all of his previous logic is sound. “It better not be Hoshi-chan. That’d be such a boring answer.”

“Then it looks like you’re all out of suspects,” Momota says with a shrug. Momota drinks the tea again and still shrivels up his nose at the bitter taste. “God, maybe I’ll make you say you were wrong about this being drinkable.”

Ouma keeps his voice even. “You’re not taking this seriously. Why?”

“Because you’re never gonna figure it out,” Momota says. “You already ruined your chance. Maybe if you—”

“No,” Ouma says. “That’s not it. You’re still giving me information from the way you’re acting.”

“I dunno. I think I have a pretty good poker face.”

“You don’t.” 

Momota pulls a face, and the passion Ouma had been looking for flickers back across his features. “Say whatever you want. I still beat you at your shitty game. Dude, I remember when you got so fucking pissed off at playing the game, but now you’re trying to act like it’s fun to—”

“You’re the culprit, aren’t you?”

Momota freezes. 

Ouma giggles. “Gotta work on that poker face, Martyr-chan.”

“Hey, slow down,” Momota says. “You need proof before you can just—”

“Instead of just being an idiot and telling Akamatsu-chan you believed in her every time you saw her doing something shady with Saihara-chan, you made the decision to spy on them instead,” Ouma says. “Instead of calling your strategy meeting, you struck up a loud conversation with Tojo-chan to provoke Chabashira-chan into going to distract Akamatsu-chan and Saihara-chan. Then from the dining hall, it’s a short trip to gather the stuff you prepared in the warehouse and go after Amami-chan.”

“That’s all speculation,” Momota says. “You’re always the one who whines about needing facts and shit, right?”

“Also, like I said, the biggest clue is that you’re my opponent,” Ouma says. “And you told me everyone has to make their own mistakes, and this game is hell and blah blah blah.”

Momota’s silence tells him everything he needs to know. “Man,” Ouma whines. “You drained all the fun out of it.”

“Guess you’re right,” Momota says. “That was kind of the point, though. You’re the one who said that as soon as you start killing, you already lost to the game. So I didn’t let anyone kill.”

“And took all of our crimes upon yourself, oh holy one,” Ouma says. “But you’re still out of luck, Culprit-chan. We agreed on a victory according to our rules. Moral victories are meaningless.”

“Maybe to you they are,” Momota says. “I’d rather die, but be able to hold my head up high.” He presses his fists together. “That’s what a true hero does.”

Ouma takes him in the methodical way he had before. Momota looks like he could be an adult around the edges, but every word out of his mouth betrays the age he died at. Ouma picks up his cup. It’s gone stone cold. “Then you’ll die.”

Momota grits his teeth. “I know, idiot. You don’t have to tell me. And…And I’m fine with that.”

Ouma wants to call him a terrible liar. He says, “I’m bored with this game. New map?”

Momota keeps his arms crossed tight across his chest as the room shifts. Two figures fall off the expanding game board.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got quite a few comments (that I'm still in the process of responding to!) telling me to take a break after finishing my last fic, and, well, as you can see I haven't been doing that, haha. I have quite a few writing projects going on (both academic and for other fandom things) but my goal is to alternate between weekly updates of this and Ignited. We'll see how I do that! Also I'm sure quite a few people can guess the series that this fic is vaguely inspired by, haha.


	2. Heaven and Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated to include canon typical violence for some of the descriptions in this chapter.

Tojo’s murder plot had relied on an elaborate setup and exceedingly convoluted alibis. But what it really had going for it was that everyone else refused to communicate. Ouma thinks it’s funny that everyone enjoyed their own little lies so much that not even the threat of death could get them to fess up. 

Some lied for dumber reasons than others. Ouma still smiles when he thinks about how Momota, who knew full well he was perfectly innocent of everything, was ready and willing to lie himself into the most embarrassing alibi he could think of. It’s strange in retrospect that someone so ready to announce their proud belief in everyone had doubts that he would be proven innocent. 

People do the most interesting things when their backs are against a wall. 

Momota frowns at him. “So we’re not gonna talk about the trial?”

“What’s there to say?” Ouma says. “We already know how that story ends. Unless you’re so sadistic that you want to see poor Akamatsu-chan get strung up again.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I really don’t, though,” Ouma responds evenly. “When the mystery is solved, the detective walks away. Only a creepy voyeur like you would want to keep hanging out at the crime scene.”

“First,” Momota says. “You’re an asshole. Second, aren’t you the one who wouldn’t shut up about how exciting the class trials were supposed to be?”

“Well, duh,” Ouma says. “The excitement comes from the unpredictability, but when you know how everything turns out and what everyone says, then it’s not fun anymore. You know what they say about doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, right?”

“It’s the definition of insanity. You think an astronaut in training isn’t gonna know shit about Albert Einstein?” 

Ouma clicks his tongue. “But did he really say that or do people just like to think he did? It’s pretty nice to use lies to build up a person you admire, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about—”

“So business as usual then.”

“—but it seems pretty obvious you’re avoiding the trial. Shuuichi and Akamatsu—”

“Almost got us all killed, I know! I was there for that part.”

“You can’t pretend what happened wasn’t important,” Momota says, mouth tugging into a frown. “Not just what Akamatsu did for us, either. Shuuichi really turned around ‘cause she believed in him.”

“I’m aware,” Ouma says. He stares at the reflection of Momota’s angry eyes when he says, “personally, if I was Akamatsu-chan, I would have invested a bit more of my belief in the strength of my windpipe. Wonder if it would have done the same amount of good.”

Momota bangs a fist on the table. All the little pieces wobble back and forth. The Momota in Ouma’s cup wobbles the most. “It’s not fucking funny.”

Ouma stares at him evenly. “I never said it was.”

“Then don’t fucking joke about it.” Momota runs a hand through his hair. “God, I know you don’t really mean it, but when you say shit like that…”

“Hmm? What are you talking about? I always say what I mean.”

“The hanger, dude,” Momota says, waving a hand vaguely. “You’re still an asshole, but you can’t lie away all the shit you said.”

Ouma hums. “I don’t know about that. I’m a pretty good liar. And besides,” he takes a lengthy sip from his cup, letting Momota’s expression grow more frustrated with each long second. “When other people think they know you? That’s when you can lie best. I know you understand that from experience.”

Momota narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Why do you always talk like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re fucking testing me.”

“Because it’s rude to set someone up for failure,” Ouma says. “And I am a very rude person.”

Momota frowns. “Piece of shit.”

“You’re also a very rude person.”

Momota drags a hand down his face. Momota’s heart is permanently stitched into his sleeve, and his anger, joy, fear, and everything else is right there for Ouma to take and bend as he pleases. There was no doubt that Gonta was the most gullible person in the group, and Ouma would peg Yumeno as the easiest to manipulate, but Momota was a close runner up for both of them. He doesn’t think it will ever not be strange to him that this is the person who called him naïve. 

The one thing Momota does have going for him, Ouma has to admit, is that he is far less breakable that almost everyone else. Maybe that’s why Ouma always felt compelled to push him until they were both inches away from hurtling off a cliff. And given their situation now, it’s impossible for either of them to die from the fall.

Ouma says, “Anyway, if you’re done moping, I have a brand new idea—something way better than Shirogane-chan’s boring killing game.”

“I’m all for not playing the killing game,” Momota says. “But when it’s you saying shit like that…”

“You think I’d pull a mean trick on poor, innocent Momota-chan?”

Momota gives him a withering look. “Ouma…”

Ouma throws his hands in the air. “Geeze, what am I supposed to do! I just want to have fun and play games, but you won’t believe in me even a little.”

“That’s because your definition of fun and games is being a dick!”

“But what if it’s not this time?” Ouma asks. “What if now that everything’s over I really do want to change and be better, but no one will give me a chance anymore? If even someone like you will never believe in me… then what am I supposed to do?”

He lets his hair fall over his eyes, the long shadows cast over his face far more convincing than any tears. It only takes a second for the gentle, “Hey…” to drift over to him. “Listen, if you really do want to change, then I’m here for you. It’s just hard to know with you sometimes.”

Ouma sniffles. “What’s hard to know with me?”

Momota opens his mouth to answer before seeming to change his mind about whatever he was going to say. He shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. And besides, I’d rather risk it than leave behind someone in need.”

“Risk what?”

“Just… you know.” Momota rubs the back of his head. “You doing something stupid.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ouma says. “I always take the most intelligent and thoughtful course of action.” Momota casts a wary eye over him, and Ouma deflates. “Or at least that’s what I thought I was doing before…”

“And you were on the wrong track,” Momota says. “But that’s okay—long as you figure out what you were doing wrong and give it your all, the past is the past.”

The answer is obvious, but Ouma has to press the question. Momota’s words and actions have their own interest, but it’s his perception of the world that always leaves Ouma wondering just how stupid another person can be. It’s hard not to muse on how Momota’s likely thought the exact same thing about him. 

“Is that why you decided to buddy up to Harukawa-chan?”

Momota’s eyebrows rise halfway towards his hairline. “Well, yeah. She obviously hated her life and wanted to change. She just felt she didn’t deserve to, so I decided to lend her a hand.”

Any comparison between himself and Harukawa makes Ouma’s stomach turn, but he has to ask, “So like me?”

Momota’s answer is immediate. “No. Harumaki’s Harumaki, and you’re…”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Momota leans forward in his chair, his hard stare flickering over the smooth lines of Ouma’s face. If he hadn’t been crushed to death, Ouma thinks he probably would have made a pretty corpse. 

Momota says, “you’re different—from Harumaki and Shuuichi, too.” Ouma stays quiet as Momota continues to study him in heavy silence. “What’s your enemy?”

“Well, given that we’re on opposite sides of this little board game, it’s you, genius—”

“No, idiot, not that.”

“—and before that it was Shirogane-chan, Monokuma, and everyone who decided to commit murder. Except for you… genius.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“But I don’t, though,” Ouma says. “And weren’t you complaining about me talking in riddles a few seconds ago? Just say what you mean. It’s not hard. Use your words Momota-chan.”

Momota scowls. “I’m trying to help you, asshole.”

“And I’m trying to be helped, but you’re making it very difficult. Really,” Ouma rests an elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “I just want to know what you mean by that.”

Momota pauses for a second, likely debating if Ouma is mocking him, before leaning back in his chair. “It’s not that complicated,” he says. “Your enemy’s whatever’s stopping you from, you know, being a better you.”

“Then what’s your enemy?” Momota gives him an unimpressed look that Ouma returns with a shrug. “If you’re asking me, it’s only fair that you lead the way, hero.”

There’s a moment of silence as Momota seems to consider his point. He concedes, “think… think you know what it was.”

“If that’s code for that little cough of yours,” Ouma says. “Then wrong answer.”

Momota’s eyebrows form a sharp V. “You don’t fucking get to decide that.”

“Well, if it’s a bad answer, then I don’t have to accept it. That’s why lies are so great! With infinite possibilities one of them has to be decent.”

“You want me to lie? Dude, that’s not the point of this.”

“But what is the point of ‘an enemy’ you can’t actually defeat?” Ouma asks. “You’re the hero guy. Don’t be so defeatist—you’re breaking my heart.”

Like before, Momota doesn’t seem happy with Ouma’s response, but he considers it. Time ticks by, but he doesn’t give up on thinking it over. Ouma lets him have his silence even as the edge of the cliff draws nearer and nearer. “Not sure,” he decides on. “I was too damn focused on the fact that I was dying to think about much else.”

“Well, given that you’ve managed to accomplish dying, why don’t you move on to another part of your personality to fix.”

“Being fucking dead isn’t part of my personality.”

“But it’s part of mine, and I thought it would be nice if we had something in common.”

Momota sighs. “Are you taking this seriously or not? ‘Cause I wanna help you, but you gotta prove you’re actually gonna try.”

“Oh, I’m trying very hard,” Ouma says, smiling brightly. “I just try in different ways. And to prove that I’m trying, I’ll give you a little help, too!”

“If you’re just gonna use this as an opportunity to insult me then I’m leaving.”

Ouma makes a show of glancing around the still mysterious room. “Good luck with that.”

Momota opens his mouth to argue, works his jaw, then deflates. “Well, you know what I fucking mean!”

“I do. No being mean to Momota-chan. You are very sensitive.”

Momota huffs, crossing his arms. “If you’re going to suggest something for me, then I get to do the same for you.”

“I accept your terms,” Ouma says. “And I will make the first move. And the second. And probably the third, and also the—”

“If you’re just going to call me an idiot—”

“First,” Ouma says. “I’m still not happy with your whole martyr routine. Really took the fun out of the game, and it’s only fun to watch you get yourself killed, like, the first dozen times.”

Momota frowns but bites back whatever argument must be on the tip of his tongue. “Fine. I guess… guess I’ll think about that.”

“Second, you—”

“That’s enough, asshole,” Momota says. “I get to do you.”

“I hope you do.”

Ouma winks. Momota doesn’t get it. “You’re so fucking weird. Anyway, like I was trying to say, you’re not like Harumaki or Shuuichi. You don’t hate yourself, and you’re not afraid of hurting other people.”

“Yup, I am very conceited, _and_ I get a kick out of being a bully.” Momota rolls his eyes. Ouma says, “Admitting it is the first step.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But you shouldn’t sound so proud of it.”

“But you just said I am very proud of myself, and I am nothing if not true to my character,” Ouma says. “Anyway, my turn now! Momota-chan is—”

“Hold on, I didn’t actually say anything yet,” Momota says.

Ouma places his hands on his hips. “You called me an arrogant bully.”

“No, you called yourself that,” Momota says. “I mean, that shit’s still true, though.”

“I don’t know if I like this game anymore.”

“I think,” Momota says, ignoring his whining. “You’re not like Harumaki or Shuuichi, but you could have solved your problems like them.”

This time Ouma’s the one raising his eyebrows in barely hidden suspicion. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, I spent half the damn game chasing you,” Momota says. “If you just let yourself be helped, I dunno,” he seems sheepish all of a sudden, rubbing the back of his head. “Maybe we could have been friends or something.”

It’s hard for Ouma to pick out the part of what Momota just said that he likes the least. He puts his smile back on and swings his legs, bouncing in his chair like a child. “What really? You wanted to be friends, too?”

Momota breaks out into a smile. The cliff is so close. Ouma just has to drop him. “Yeah, of course I did. I wanted to be friends with everyone.”

“Aw, so I wasn’t special…”

Momota rolls his eyes, though he doesn’t stop grinning. “No, you were just way more fucking difficult. But,” he gives him a thumbs up. “It’s actually pretty cool we cleared that up. So that’s your enemy—you gotta learn to rely on your friends sometimes. You can’t do everything alone.”

Ouma would argue he didn’t do anything in the killing game alone. He always needed a partner to do his dirty work—Iruma to make inventions, Gonta to be his muscle, Saihara to present his deductions, and Momota to end it all. But arguing isn’t the goal. “I know,” he says. “It’s just so hard to trust people even when there isn’t a killing game going on.”

“I see,” Momota says, nodding along with his words. “You were afraid someone would betray you. I guess I can understand why that would be a problem for some people, but you know what? You just gotta ignore that. If someone betrays you, it’s not their fault—it’s your fault for believing in them.”

Ouma has no idea how that advice is supposed to make anyone feel better. He still manages to hold back any signs of doubt in his expression, and Momota picks up steam. “You’re not gonna know the ins and outs of every person you meet. If you think you do, you’re probably just making something up, and that’s not their fault. We’re all just people, you know? So you gotta trust in the person that you know, and, hey,” he smiles encouragingly. “If you’ve got a good intuition like me, then it’ll all work out.”

Any lingering hesitance Ouma may have had over his plan vanishes. “Okay, I think I get it,” he says. “And that sounds like it sorta connects with the game I was thinking about earlier.”

“Oh yeah?” Momota says. “If it’s another challenge for me, then lay it on me.” He shoots him another winning smile. “I’ll show you what I’m talking about in action.”

Ouma smiles back. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Tojo was unique amongst the culprits. She was by far the most ruthless both to her victim and to the others. Even Shinguji had had his strange code of conduct that forced him to bide his time, and he had spoken of his victims with such reverence before leaving them with his unsettling farewell. Tojo just wanted an easy target that wouldn’t run for help—someone she could convince the others was already on the way out and not worth fighting for when her guilt came to light. 

It was hard not to feel bad for Hoshi. In some ways he was like Amami—a levelheaded and peaceful participant who could only contribute to the killing game’s excitement by dying. 

Ouma briefly entertains a fantasy where Momota reached out and tried to work his hero magic on Hoshi instead. They’d certainly make an odd duo, and Ouma can’t help the bitter feeling that if Momota had picked anyone other than Saihara then maybe his final plan would’ve worked. But Akamatsu picked Saihara, which meant Momota picked Saihara, which meant Ouma was, here, fiddling with Hoshi’s piece in his hands. 

He sets it on its side. Tojo’s going to be his real star. 

The first-come first-served rule was certainly interesting, but Monokuma never put a limit on victims. The oversight would probably have received a suitable band-aid, but Ouma was the new game master and he didn’t want to entertain his audience. He wanted to scare them.

The quiet deliberation of his movements doesn’t seem to alarm Momota in the slightest. His faith so strong that his only response when Ouma asks him where he was on the morning they discovered Hoshi’s corpse is to chirp in confirmation. To Ouma, the real mystery is just what the hell kind of game Momota thinks they can play with the hand they’ve been dealt. 

Ouma gives him the go ahead to start, and Momota asks, “so what’s my goal?”

“Survive the day.”

Momota blinks at him and then he’s blinking awake in his room.

At this point in the game, Momota remembers that he had started to become settled in his room and the academy. It was an uncomforting comfort, given that he probably wanted to escape more than anyone. Momota winces as he reminds himself what day it was in the academy. Almost anyone. 

He had stayed in his room that morning, having decided magic shows were one of the least interesting things humankind ever created. There really was nothing to do aside from loafing around and mulling over Ouma’s cryptic instructions until Hoshi’s body was discovered. 

The thought always made his lips involuntarily tug into a frown. Momota had no idea how Ouma could be so cavalier about what happened in the game, even if it was an act. 

Hoshi’s death in particular was complicated. In retrospect, Momota realizes he probably resented him. A person he had admired going on and on about having no future while Akamatsu was deprived of hers right in front of them. Akamatsu and Amami had probably both wanted to live really badly. Momota had wanted to live, too, and he had less of a chance than all of them. 

Momota shakes his head. Thinking about stuff like that was never the right answer. 

The body announcement chimes a few seconds later, and Momota starts heading straight towards the gym. Then the body announcement goes off again. And a third time. 

He picks up the pace, a silver of doubt about his situation starting to creep into the back of his mind. Momota shakes it off as he pushes up the doors to the gym. It’s empty. He wanders in a few more steps, wondering what canceling the magic show was supposed to accomplish. He doesn’t leave, though. The smell of copper is too strong to ignore. 

The water tank is still very much there, and one of his signature hunches guides him towards it. That and the thick streaks of semi-dried blood coating the staircase at its side. 

Momota takes a deep breath. This is just the way the game is played, and he trusts Ouma. Climbing the drenched staircase is too disturbing a thought, and Momota decides to keep trusting Ouma right until he finishes pulling back the curtain over the water tank.

The piranhas are buzzing away in the pink water, a pile of bones beneath them. 

Momota stumbles back a step. The portrait before him is nothing short of horrific, but for some reason what bothers him most is the absolute silence hanging over the room. The universe doesn’t care that his friends have been killed, and it doesn’t care that he has to swallow all the primal fear and sickness threatening to well up to force himself to count the tiny skulls to figure out how many people have died. 

With that awful mystery solved, Momota numbly acknowledges that the trio of body announcements is now accounted for. He takes in the empty gym. Almost accounted for.

He took a moment to curse out Ouma when he first opened the curtain, but for the second time, it’s the silence that gets to him. Momota has certainly been panicked and worried during the killing game, but with the small exception of anything ghost related, he doesn’t he think he ever felt afraid. Whatever was happening now made his heart pound with what he slowly realized was terror.

Momota takes a deep breath and forces himself back towards the tank. His goal is to survive the day, and that involves making it through the trial for the three piles of bones. Momota makes a vague guess that maybe the point of Ouma’s game is he does the investigation alone, and that’s fine. It’s a little less fine when he has to get down to eyelevel with the empty skulls to piece out anything identifiable from the shredded pieces of clothing surrounding them. 

Part of Hoshi’s hat and enough bright yellow to be Angie’s coat make themselves known easily. Yumeno’s hair pin reflects interesting colors in the bloody water. It’s almost enough to make him sick. 

But the scene comes together. The two girls had been the first to arrive to the gym that morning to prep the magic show. Someone jumped them. The others found them to trigger the announcement and then… Momota stands up and scratches the back of his head. The culprit is probably still Tojo, but even if it’s not, Momota remembers the damning evidence to convict her had been floating in the pool. 

With nothing else to do, he shuffles out of the gym and stops when he sees bloody footprints leading out the front doors of the school. They track back to the dining hall, and for a brief moment, Momota refuses to believe it. There were three announcements and he found three corpses. That’s all there can be—one is enough for Monokuma’s game. No one would kill more just because they could. It’s impossible.

Even as he says aloud that it’s impossible, the door is still so hard to open. Kiibo’s severed head greets him on the other side. His eyes are dulled to black, and the wires protruding from his neck aren’t bloody but manage to be just as horrific as the rest of the room.

A fourth body announcement plays as Momota takes in the sight of Saihara, Chabashira, Shirogane, and Shinguji all slumped motionless over the table. Shirogane managed to spill her teacup when her head collided with the table, and it doesn’t take Momota very many guesses to figure out what happened. 

He turns to the far end of the table. Gonta is so much bigger than the others. It would probably take a much higher dose for whatever poisoned the others to outright kill him. Ouma’s culprit ran a knife over his throat, and the sight of him sitting there, propped up and covered in his own blood at this sadistic tea party confirms everything. 

This isn’t a killing game. This is a horror movie. 

The body announcements stopped playing when Monokuma ran out of live participants to count in his three person rule, but Momota managed to set off one more. It’s only a matter of time before the killer figures out what’s happened. 

There’s a high pitched shriek from somewhere else in the school. Momota takes off towards the sound—whoever is screaming is someone alive he can save. They get out one, two more yells, and then a half of one. By the time Momota reaches the front doors of the school, they’ve gone quiet. There’s a brief moment of indecision before Momota decides it’s impossible that he’s too late.

Momota charges through the front doors. Tojo is hunched over Iruma’s body, wiping at the blood splatters down the front of her apron. Her one visible eye widens in the fraction of a second before Momota’s fist collides with her face. 

Iruma’s blood has stained the ground, and Momota starts the fight with his slippers living up to their name. The increased momentum sends both him and Tojo tripping over Iruma’s body and into a pile on the grass. 

He had fought with Chabashira and Amami in the last simulation, but this is different. This is a fight for his life. For all her dignity, Tojo fights dirty, and she spits in his face and attempts to scratch at his eyes as they roll through the grass. Momota still has the weight advantage and even with her attempts to claw at his face, he manages to pin her wrists to the ground.

Tojo keeps struggling even as they both take the moment to catch their breaths. Momota’s about ready to tell Ouma he’s won his stupid game when Tojo starts talking. “M-Momota-kun,” she breathes out. “Why—why did you attack me?”

He does a double take. “You—you just fucking killed—”

“I was examining her body!” Tojo shouts, trying to shove him off of her. “I heard Iruma-san screaming for help, and I ran to her body—”

“Quit fucking lying!”

“I am not lying!” Tojo takes a moment to collect herself, and her voice is the calm one Momota knows when she speaks next. “I’m not. I… I understand why you reacted the way you did, but you were mistaken. I’m afraid I don’t know how to prove to you that I’m not the culprit, but now is not the time to fight like this.”

Momota narrows his eyes. They’re inches apart, and he shouts back in her face, “do you think I’m a fucking idiot!? You’re covered in her blood! And the people in the gym, and the dining hall, that was all—”

“What are you talking about?” Tojo asks, her visible eye growing huge at his accusation. “Wait—is that what those body announcements were about? Did you find the others? Has someone been killed?”

The questions come rapid fire and send Momota off kilter just enough that he stops yelling. “Y-Yeah. Almost everyone—”

Tojo stops moving completely. “Everyone… everyone is dead?” her voice is horrified, and she’s staring somewhere beyond Momota. “How could… after Akamatsu-san’s request, I…”

She sounds so broken. Momota can’t help but comfort her. He lets his grip on her wrists go and sits up at her side. “Not everyone. I think it’s you, me, Haruma—Harukawa, and… and I haven’t seen Ouma.”

Tojo pulls herself up as well. “I see…”

Momota thinks Tojo looks like shit right now, and he knows he’s probably not much better. Her hair is matted with blood and dirt, and there’s a cut on her lip from where he punched her, dyeing her mouth a glowing red. 

“So,” he says slowly. “If it wasn’t me or you, then… shit.” He curses under his breath again. Of course Ouma would do something like set Harukawa up.

“Or,” Tojo says. “Perhaps Monokuma broke his rules.” She sighs, shaking her head. “I’m aware that is an unlikely possibility, but I think I would prefer to believe that this is his doing.”

“Yeah,” Momota agrees. “Me, too.”

He takes the effort to lurch to his feet and offers Tojo a hand she gratefully accepts. 

Iruma’s body was overturned in their scuffle, and with the strange new peace, Momota can’t help but let his eyes linger over it. Her eyes are open and glassy, and there’s a knife protruding from her chest. 

“Don’t look,” Tojo says, and Momota’s head snaps to her. “I doubt there will be a normal investigation, and Iruma-san wouldn’t want us to remember her this way.”

“No… she probably wouldn’t.” Momota runs a hand through his hair. “But fuck, what are we supposed to do now?”

“If you request it, I will think of a plan,” Tojo says. “And if you don’t… perhaps, I will request myself.”

Momota snorts. “If that helps you make it official…”

“It’s mostly for my peace of mind, yes,” she says. Her eye darts to Iruma’s body and back again. “When something like this happens, you do what you have to.”

Momota lets out a deep sigh. Given the oddities of his situation, it was somehow so nice to hear someone acknowledge the human part of the killing game. “Yeah, you’re right. And,” he rubs the back of his head. “I’m sorry for hitting you earlier. I kinda freaked out.”

“There is no need to apologize. I panicked as well,” Tojo says. “Now that I have a second to think about it that might have been the killer’s purpose in leaving Iruma-san’s body out in the open. We would both find it and naturally suspect each other.”

Momota nods along with her logic. “And then the killer would get us to fucking take each other out, I get it. God, that probably means they’re still fucking lurking around nearby.”

“Iruma-san had been screaming, and her body was very warm when I checked it,” Tojo says. “You were right on the other side of the door so I assumed you were the culprit when you attacked me, but now…”

“Now we have no idea where the hell they are,” Momota presses his fists together. “Damnit, they probably took off as soon as we stopped fighting.”

“I believe so. Perhaps,” Tojo brings a hand to her chin. “We can use this to our advantage. At this point, if we hide, we will be abandoning whoever is left for the killer.” 

For as much hell as Momota’s planning to give Ouma for this little stunt, he doesn’t want to see his corpse again if he can help it. The other possibility that Ouma’s made himself the culprit in revenge for the last game means Harukawa will die. He frowns at both thoughts. “Makes sense to me.”

“Right, then,” Tojo lets out a shaky breath and turns towards Iruma’s body. “It… might be prudent to have something to defend ourselves with.”

Momota grimaces. In his fight with Tojo, even if she had been the culprit he doesn’t know if he could have brought himself to kill her. The possibility of Harukawa or Ouma at the other end of Tojo’s knife makes his stomach turn. 

As Tojo prepares herself for the grim task of removing their only line of defense from Iruma’s corpse, Momota thinks over Ouma’s words. His enemy is martyrdom and his goal is to survive the day. 

Tojo approaches, knife in hand, and Momota says, “Where to?”

It’s hard not to think of it as a hunting party, all things considered. That fact makes him sicker than all the corpses and the scent of death clinging to both of their blood stained bodies. Tojo leads the way, and Momota knows he’s a request away from making her do his dirty work. He keeps his mouth shut.

He doesn’t pay much attention to where they’re going, but Tojo walks with determination further into the school. Momota stares at the floor, tracing over the bloody footprints she leaves behind. 

Martyrdom, survival, and Ouma had said belief, too. If it was a trust exercise, Momota would be happy to fall back on Harukawa, but maybe the point was to put his faith in Ouma. He’s chewing his lip almost as bloody as Tojo’s after he punched her in the mouth.

She stops him at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. “It’ll be dark, and there’s a chance the killer might be hiding in the shadows.”

“I’ll make sure to keep an eye out behind us.”

“Thank you.”

The basement does seem like a good hiding place for a monster, Momota thinks. It’s as creepy and dimly lit as ever, and Momota makes sure to take a good look at every shadow as Tojo stays closer to his side, knife at the ready. 

It’s an absent question after he finishes inspecting an empty corner. “Hey, Tojo, you really think the killer’s down here?”

“I do,” she says. “I don’t have proof, but… call it a hunch.”

Momota smiles. “You get hunches, too?”

“On occasion,” Tojo says, returning his sunny expression in her usual subdued fashion.

“Huh,” he says. “Never took you for the type.”

“People can surprise you.”

Tojo admits they can as she cautiously pushes the door to the library open. She pokes her head in, gives the all clear, and steps inside. For a second, Momota is left alone with her bloody footprints in the dark. 

Tojo’s inside the library, tugging at the bookshelf covering the hidden door. She calls out over her shoulder, “Momota-kun, could you help me with this?” Momota has his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and she explains, “Saihara-kun placed dust in the card reader earlier. I wanted to check if the mastermind made their escape in the confusion.”

“Yeah, sure.”

He isn’t quite sure why Tojo can’t move it herself if Saihara had been able to do it alone a few days ago, but she steps back for him and he begins pulling. It makes a slight grating sound as it moves across the floor. It’s not especially loud, but it’s enough that for half a second, Momota thinks he imagined the tiny voice whispering in his ear for him to move.

But he didn’t, and he jerks at the sound at roughly the same time a flash of hot pain jolts up through his shoulder. 

Momota spins on his heel, one hand flying to his new stab wound. Tojo rears back a step at his movement, but the knife is still in her hand. She holds her other up as if anything she could possibly say would pacify him. “Momota-kun, you need to understand. I didn’t intend for that. I don’t want you or anyone else to suffer, but I have no choice. I need—”

He runs at her. The knife flies out of her hand when he tackles her, and the first part of their fight is a desperate struggle for some kind of control. The second part consists of a brief pause to register just where the sole weapon between the two of them skidded across the ground to and the mad dash there.

Momota snatches it off the ground first and freezes. 

Tojo pounces on his hesitation. “You don’t need to do this, Momota-kun,” she says. “I… I want to live, and I know you do, too. We can both walk away and pretend this didn’t happen. Neither of us has to become a killer, and no one will be executed.”

There’s no way she isn’t lying, and Momota knows he can’t keep listening to her talk. Somewhere underneath all the pain and horror, he still feels empathy for her. One part of what she’s saying isn’t a lie. Tojo wants to live more than anyone else. 

She takes a few steps towards him. “I am sorry that I tricked you, and I don’t expect to be forgiven, but please,” she places one gloved hand over his trembling grip on the knife. “Please, listen to me. I know you don’t want to do this, and you don’t have to.”

Tojo lets out a gasp and her blood feels like it’s boiling where it splatters over his knuckles. Her gaze shifts from placating, to confusion, to raw anger before she falls to the ground. 

Momota staggers back to brace himself against the bookshelves. He’s aware he should probably do something about his shoulder or the blood coating his hands or the body of the person he just killed, but none of it really seems to matter. 

His steps out of the room and up to the boys’ bathroom are mechanical. Momota already has enough bad memories of being hunched over the bathroom sinks, but he adds one more until he feels breathless and dizzy. The lightheadedness could be from blood loss, he reasons. It still doesn’t compel him to do anything about it.

It’s unlikely Ouma will show himself, and that leaves only one other person for Momota to wander towards. The halls are empty, his steps drag, and his voice sounds like gravel as he pounds on the door to Harukawa’s lab, calling out, “Harumaki! Harumaki!”

She opens the door a crack and then wider when she takes in his appearance. “What the hell—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, “or, uh, do. Can I—can I fucking come in? I dunno where else to go.”

Harukawa frowns. “No. No one’s allowed in.”

Momota shakes his head. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Everyone’s dead. No one’s gonna find out you’re a fucking assassin or whatever.”

Her eyes narrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Harumaki,” he says. Some of his pain leeches into his voice as he figures out why he came here. “Your talent doesn’t fucking matter, okay? Just please let me in—please help me.”

Harukawa steps forward, letting the door to her lab close behind her. “I don’t know how you found out about me, but I can’t let you tell the others.”

Momota wants to rip his hair out. “There are no fucking ‘others’ anymore! Why won’t you listen to me!?”

Logically, he knows this is a Harukawa who he hasn’t broken through to yet, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Her gaze darkens, and her hands shoot up to either side of his head. 

Momota thinks he understands what happened, but he didn’t even feel it. Instead he’s blinking at Ouma’s innocent, smiling face.

“Ooh, looks like you lost right at the end. Hate to see that happen.”

Momota takes a second to catch his breath. Ouma keeps chattering, happy as ever. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you even made it that far after your blunder with Tojo-chan. I was practically falling out of my chair when you bought her story about how she just so happened to find Iruma-chan’s corpse, oh but no killer in sight how mysterious, what a coincidence that—”

Momota stands and with one violent sweep of his arms sends everything on the game board clattering to the ground. Ouma blinks at the action. Then, “well someone’s a sore lose—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” 

Ouma stares up at him. “Momota-cha—”

“You say we’re friends and then you do that to me!?”

Ouma shrugs, letting his gaze fall somewhere to Momota’s right. “I did it because we’re friends. It was a lesson.”

“It was sick! And,” Momota throws his hands in the air. “The only fucking redeemable thing about you when we were alive is that you hated the killing game, so where the hell do you get off on making our friends suffer more?”

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Ouma says, tilting his head pointedly at the remains of the miniature. “We are dead, and all of these little games are lies. It’s not real, so no one has actually gotten hurt or—”

“You sound like Shirogane.”

With those words, Momota collapses back in his chair, arms crossed against his chest. Ouma keeps staring at the miniature. Ouma opens his mouth, and Momota cuts him off, “no, shut up. I don’t care what you have to say anymore. You can like your stupid mysteries or lies or whatever, but if you really do just want to hurt people, then I’m not going to stay around you.”

Ouma takes too long to respond, but his voice is flippant as ever when he finds it. “So I miscalculated. I thought you’d like a game with a straightforward bad guy.” He meets Momota’s glare. “I was trying to do something nice. But that’s—”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, I was going to say ‘but that’s a lie’ since I don’t have as filthy a mouth as you, but if you like that better, then who am I to—”

“No, I fucking told you to stop it,” Momota says. “I don’t care what shitty jokes or lies you make to pretty it up. I barely even want to see your face anymore, so just shut up.”

It’s quiet at the bottom of the cliff. Ouma doesn’t know why he thought it wouldn’t be. 

Momota follows through on his promise to sit in silence, and Ouma lets a few long moments tick by. Then, “it’s your turn.”

Momota turns to him. “What are you talking about?”

“You get to set up a game now.”

Momota sighs. “There isn’t a board anymore, dumbass.”

“No, but I don’t think you need one,” Ouma says. “You already know what you want.”

There’s another beat of silence before Momota responds. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Ouma salutes him. “I look forward to your revenge, Momota-chan. Make us even.”

Momota shakes his head. “You really are an idiot.”

It’s night in the dorms, and everyone is gathered together to blink with bleary eyes at a slightly damp Hoshi before them. Ouma lingers in the crowd and out of the spotlight.

Hoshi says, “Sorry for waking you all, but… this is important.”

Tojo is standing shame faced next to him. “I,” she says, words choked. “I almost made a horrible mistake, and I needed to apologize to you all.” She bows her head. “What I did is unforgivable, and I understand that, but please know that I vow I will not make the same mistake again.”

“Just glad you figured that out before…” Hoshi trails off and tries again, revising to, “glad you figured that out.”

There are hugs and forgiveness all around. Ouma presses himself into the far corner of the room. He sees Momota embracing Tojo in a tight hug, and can’t help but wish he got punched in the face instead. 

There’s no fighting, murder, or mystery. Just a renewed promise to fulfill Akamatsu’s wish to all escape together and become friends. Ouma slips back inside his room and waits for Momota’s fantasy to end. There’s no place for him in it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've been watching too much dnd related stuff since I know one of my notes for this chapter was "Momota fails like eight insight checks" haha. Anyway! I'm not sure if I'll be posting anything else for the rest of the month since I'll be working on something that will hopefully be finished by a certain anniversary for another fic of mine coming soon. But in the meantime, thank you for reading!


	3. Beyond the Grave

Ouma only has to sit at the foot of his bed in the dark for a few minutes at most. Logically he knows he could have turned his imaginary light on or left the imaginary sheets on his bed instead of pulling them to the floor and over his head. Logically, he could burn this constructed world to the ground, too, and hammer in the final nail of the point he wanted to make. 

But something other than logic keeps him in the dark, away from the only other real person in this tiny plane of existence. Ouma remembers Momota shooting down the idea that they were trapped in hell. Ouma remembers his own argument that this was Momota’s hell, and he was the demon sent to torture him. It doesn’t seem that farfetched of an idea now, all things considered. 

It’s stuffy under the blanket, and Ouma blows up at the hair falling into his eyes. It’s strange. He thought he would be done playing the bad guy once the game ended. He chalks it up to old habits dying hard and reaches for the one object from his room he bothered to pull into his blanket shell. His motive video casts light across his face as he watches it for probably the hundredth time. Old habits, Ouma thinks.

This was supposed to make him want to kill. Ouma rests his chin on his knees. He knows it’s not real, of course, but lies have helped him get through a lot and it seems silly to throw this one away. Momota’s basically doing the exact same thing on the other side of his door, and Ouma sees no reason why he has to take the high ground here. 

The video ends on the same call to action for murder like it always does. Ouma wishes Momota would hurry it up. The reality is they can’t escape from each other, and Ouma feels a touch annoyed that he’s the one griping about them not facing the truth. Once this bubble of space bursts, they’ll be back to the table to stare at each other in stony silence.

Ouma sets his motive video aside. Fiction can only save people so much. All the happy clowns parading around in his memories can’t pull him out of the hole he’s dug for himself. He frowns. Especially since Momota probably doesn’t like clowns. 

Instead of being pulled back to the table and the tea set, someone starts ringing his doorbell. Ouma rolls his eyes as Momota starts his standard hundred rings. “Ouma,” his voice carries through the door. “Come out here.”

Ouma only forces himself to his feet on the vague chance that Momota actually will give him a swat on the back of his head and then pronounce everlasting friendship or whatever nonsense he did with Saihara. He still doesn’t bother to pull the sheet off his head, and Momota’s voice is completely flat when Ouma opens his door. “What… are you doing?”

Ouma’s voice is also flat. “Boo, I’m a ghost. Did I get you?”

The sheet is ripped from his head. “Quit fucking messing around.”

Everyone is assembled in a group behind Momota. For some reason he doesn’t want to interrogate, meeting Momota’s eyes sound unpleasant, and Ouma busies himself with staring at the others. “Done playing with your dolls yet?”

Momota is confused for half a second before huffing. “Don’t talk about them that way.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ouma says. “Are you done playing with your manly action figures yet?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, asshole,” Momota says. “And you know they’re real.”

“They’re not, though.”

He doesn’t have to look at Momota to know he’s scowling. “They’re our friends, and,” Momota places a hand on his back to force him a few steps forward. “You owe them a fucking apology.”

Ouma assumes Momota means only for the last scenario, given that Akamatsu and Amami are still dead in this construction. But it’s strange enough of a request that Ouma allows himself a glance up at Momota’s face. He’s as genuine as Ouma imagined he would be. 

Ouma figures if he’s already in a hole, he might as well dig a few more inches. It’s not like he doesn’t have eternity to reach the surface again.

“So,” he drawls. “Like I said, they’re not real. When you were a kid, did you apologize to your stuffed animals for pushing them off of your bed in the middle of the night?”

Ouma ignores the fact that he did just that a few times to the delightfully creepy stuffed horse head he had slept with most nights in the game. Momota glares down at him. “Why don’t you get it? That doesn’t fucking matter.”

“It does to me,” he says. “Because while I have been through quite a few wacky shenanigans before, being shamed in front of a group of mannequins is a new one for me.”

“I told you to stop talking about them that way.”

Momota’s uncomfortable, hand on his hip and gaze somewhere to Ouma’s side. Uncomfortable but still angry, and Ouma feels that same little spark that always encourages him to push. “You know I’m right.” Ouma tilts his head towards the group, looking less alive by the second. “Fiction can comfort you, but you can’t comfort it. You’re being awfully silly, Momota-chan.”

He’s meant with a snarl. “And you’re being an asshole,” he says. “It’s the principle of the thing, damnit.”

Momota sighs, and his hand goes to rub at the back of his head—still irritated and considering giving up, though he never will. Ouma belatedly notes that he’s studied Momota’s body language far too much, but it’s a compulsion he can’t turn off. 

Ouma turns his head to the side. “Well, I don’t believe in whatever ‘principle’ you’re talking about, and I’m sick of lies, Momota-chan. Besides,” he gives the group another sidelong look. “I’m fine with everything I did to them, and isn’t it bad to apologize for things you’re not sorry for?”

Momota’s expression changes to a rare one for him. Contempt. “Why the fuck am I even bothering…”

They’re back in the room and stony silence, then. Ouma reminds himself he has to stop digging at some point. “You know,” Ouma says. “I do appreciate the opportunity to get back into your good books, but I guess I’m still on the naughty list, huh?”

Momota’s in a staring contest with the wall. “I just don’t get it. You… you know I thought damn long and hard about whether to give you a chance to show just… any fucking remorse at all, and you’re proud of yourself for fucking it up. Even in the game, I never stopped giving you second chances, and you’re so happy that you never took one.” He shakes his head. “I don’t fucking get it, man.”

Ouma’s teacup is still in pieces on the ground. It’s a shame he doesn’t have it as a prop to play with. “Sooo I’ll assume that means naughty list is still a go then.”

Momota’s chair scrapes across the ground when he pushes himself to a standing position. “There has to be a way out of here,” he mutters to himself. 

That stings a little, as does Momota slumping against a far away wall after his cursory search comes up short. Ouma whines, “you don’t even want to sit with me anymore? B-But I don’t want to eat lunch alone like a loser!”

“Just shut up,” he mumbles. “I need a break from you.”

Ouma lets him have a few minutes of silence. Then, “do you like clowns?”

Momota pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, Ouma. I really fucking don’t.”

“Okay,” he hums, swinging his legs. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Well, when you’re in prison, you might as well get along with your cellmate.”

Momota gives him a withering look. “You’ve decided that now?”

“No, I knew before.”

“Then why did you…” Momota gestures vaguely. “Fucking do that?”

Ouma thinks on it and the pros and cons of being honest. A half truth sounds like a good call. “I wanted to punish you,” he says. “You were saying a lot of stupid things and I wanted to show you you were wrong.”

“And you thought that would convince me?”

Momota follows up his question with calling him a piece of shit under his breath, but Ouma doesn’t pay that much attention. With nothing to fiddle with, he’s left examining his nails. “Not really,” he says. “A Momota-chan who just agrees with everything I say would be pretty boring.”

“So—so what?” Momota throws his hands in the air. “What was the fucking point then!?”

Ouma picks at his nails and the easy route. “You know,” he says. “I did mean it when I said I don’t regret what I did to the others because they’re not real. But if you were honest and admitted that _you_ wanted an apology, I would have given you one.”

It throws Momota off whatever line of thought he was going to drag them down. The balance of power shifts back in Ouma’s favor, and Momota’s left to fidget now. His words are halfhearted and directed to his lap. “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me out on not being honest.”

“I know,” Ouma says. “I’ve always been daring like that.”

He leans his head back against the wall. “Yeah, whatever, you’re right. I just figured it’d be a hundred fucking years before you admit you did something wrong.”

“You don’t know me very well,” Ouma says. “I do bad things all the time.”

“Okay, there—that’s it,” Momota says, pointing a finger at him. “That’s my problem with you. You know exactly what you’re doing and that it’s fucked up, but you don’t want to change or—”

“We’ve already had this conversation, Momota-chan,” Ouma says. “I know what your problems with me are—”

Momota rises to his feet. “Then why don’t you do something about them!?”

Ouma narrows his eyes. “I get it. You want to fix me just like—”

“So what if I do!?” Momota shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “What is so fucking wrong with wanting to help or fix or whatever—”

“Do you know how arrogant it is to—”

“—when you’re miserable and obsessed with making everyone else miserable—”

“—expect other people to change just so they’re easier for you to mana—”

“—because you’re fucking broken!”

Ouma stops. Momota heaves a breath like a sprinter after a race. With Ouma’s silence, he has another second to think about his words, but again, he says, “you’re broken, Ouma. You really are—”

“Yeah,” Ouma says. “Duh.” 

Momota walks back to his chair, and Ouma takes the precious moments he’s been given to collect himself. “I didn’t—look, it’s not hopeless, man.”

“You’re comforting me?” Ouma says, raising an eyebrow. 

Momota shrugs. “I’m trying to understand.”

“You already understand,” Ouma says. “I know what’s wrong with me, but I’m not going to do anything to fix it because I’m not a very good person.”

Momota takes a second to consider his words before shaking his head. “Nah, that’s bullshit. You can still—”

“Change?” Ouma finishes for him. “Yes, like I said I _could_ do that, but I won’t.” He gestures to himself. “Hence, the bad person thing.” 

He’s obviously unhappy with that answer, but Momota broods in silence. Ouma jumps up from his chair. “Well, now that that’s established,” he says. “It’s about time I find a magic dustpan or something, wouldn’t you say? We’re going to start attracting magic ants soon.”

Momota calls out to him just as he turns away. “You said you’d apologize to me if I asked.”

Ouma busies himself with looking around the room. “Sure did.”

“Then I’m asking now.”

It’s not hard to figure out Momota’s game, and Ouma turns to match his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he says, letting the words linger in the air. Then he smirks. “That you don’t have a sense of humor.”

Momota groans and buries his face in his hands. “You’re an asshole.”

Ouma laughs. “And somehow you’re surprised every time.”

“Why the hell do I still believe in you?” Momota mumbles to himself. 

It wasn’t meant as a question, but Ouma decides to answer him anyway. “Good question! Personally, I’d prefer if you’d just make up your mind about whether you like or hate me already.”

Momota looks up at him, brow furrowed. “What?”

“I just think it’d make both of our afterlives easier if we were on the same page,” Ouma says. “You like honesty—or at least you like to say you do—so let’s just get everything out there.”

“I don’t hate you,” Momota says, genuinely confused.

Ouma scoffs. “Oh, yeah right. Sure. Wink.”

“I don’t!”

“You just said I was broken and need to be fixed.”

“That’s because—” Momota throws his hands in the air. “I don’t know! I want to help you, so you’ll stop making us both miserable! This place,” he sweeps an arm across the room, “it’s only hell because you keep making it hell, and I want to do something about that.”

Ouma rocks on his heels. “Would you say… you hate me for putting you through hell?”

“I guess?” Momota says. “Why do you want me to hate you so fucking badly?”

“I don’t know,” Ouma spins back around. “Maybe ‘cause it’s kind of fun when you get mad and stomp your feet and say bad words at me.” He glances over his shoulder. “You know the last time we had this conversation, I threw you into a horror movie.”

Momota glares. “Yeah, I remember, asshole. I’m not gonna fall for that crap a second time.”

“Don’t worry, there won’t be a second time. I learned Momota-chan’s limit.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Ouma turns away when he hears Momota snort. “Wonder what the hell you do to people you like…”

The various decorative cupboards and shelves around them are merely for display, and Ouma gets a feeling his search will turn up empty no longer how long he keeps at it. He decides to check a few more drawers. “I do like you.”

“Then why—”

“Once,” he says. “I think I said that when I find someone I really like, I’ll basically do anything to get them to notice me. Even strangle them.”

Momota grimaces. “The fuck did you say that to?”

“Myself,” Ouma says. “I had just killed Iruma-chan and was having a bit of a breakdown, all things considered, but the point still stands.” He turns to give him a wink. “Don’t worry, though. My strangling days are behind me.”

Momota just seems exasperated at this point. “Why did you tell me all that?”

“You asked me how I treat the people I like, and I wanted to answer your question.”

“But what about, you know, your motive video? Your secret organization or whatever?”

Ouma’s glad he has his head in a cupboard when Momota asks the question. He has a smile on his face when he pops back out. “What about them? They’re not real.”

“But,” Momota rubs the back of his head. “You’re always going on about how lies and shit can help you.”

“They’re not my lie, though,” Ouma says, finally making his way back to his chair. “And besides, what have they done for me lately? Didn’t rescue me from the killing game, didn’t stop my horrible death, and if you decide to spend the rest of eternity beating the shit out of me, they’re not going to do anything.”

Momota winces and winces again at numbers two and three on his list. “I’m not gonna do anything like that, and about your death—”

“I know,” Ouma says. “I was just using it as an example. I’d be more mad at you if you hadn’t gone through with it, so don’t beat yourself up, dummy.”

Momota stares hard at the table. “Fuck, man.”

“I’m a lot to take in, I know.”

“Not that, well, yeah that’s true, too,” Momota says. “I just mean… do you actually like me?”

Ouma bats his eyes. “Yes, I have a huge embarrassing crush on you.”

He’s met with another glare. “You know what I mean. You’re… weird.”

“That’s a rather rude thing to say to someone who just confessed their love to you.”

“Ouma, I’m trying to be serious. You’re obnoxious and a dick, and then you turn around and try to comfort me and say all this shit about how you want us to get along. And…” his hand goes to the back of his head. “And all the crap you said about not wanting to change and being a shitty person doesn’t add up with you—”

“So you really don’t like clowns?” Ouma says, tilting his head. “Not even a little?”

Momota frowns. “Why are you changing the subject?”

“Because I don’t want to talk about this. That’s usually why people change subjects, silly Momota-chan.”

“So…” Momota says. “You’re admitting it?”

Ouma pauses. Even when Momota says he’s done with him, he always gives him a way out. “Did you know,” he says after a moment. “That when someone declares they are taking their right to remain silent, the judge, jury, and executioner are all instructed to disregard the question the defendant was asked?”

“You’re not on trial, Ouma.”

“Feels like I am. And here I thought I was done with that when I died.” He shoots Momota a smile. “It’s a bit too late to play detective now.”

Momota sighs. “I don’t think it ever is with you.”

Ouma hums. “You know, that thing I said earlier about strangling people… hmm, I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

Ouma tilts his head back to straight up at the ceiling. “Why don’t… we play a game?”

“Because we’re having a damn conversation,” Momota huffs. 

“But not all conversations are good,” Ouma says, looking back down at him. “And the more we talk about each other, the worse things get, don’t you think? So let’s talk about something else.”

“That’s not true,” Momota says. “We were getting somewhere.”

“Momota-chan,” Ouma says. “You’re lucky I have a level head. Right now, you’re picking me apart, but I could dissect you a hundred times over.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Ouma nods. “A little, but mostly I want you to speak my language. So let’s play a game.”

Momota regards him warily. “If this is another trick…”

“It’s not. I wouldn’t do that again,” Ouma says, keeping his voice nonchalant. “Because it was wrong.”

Momota’s eyes widen. “Ouma—”

“So!” Ouma claps his hands. “Let’s go to the character selection screen!” The board changes, growing taller and losing a few more people. Ouma reaches into it. “I’m team Angie-chan. Perky, lots of smiles, comforting lies, and ready and willing to throw any and everyone under the bus! And you’ll be team Chabashira-chan.” He plucks the piece in question and throws it to Momota, who fumbles in his catch. “Loud, jumpy, thinks exercise isn’t lame, and into all that emotional touchy-feely garbage.”

“Uh, okay?” Momota says. “And what are we doing with them?”

“We’re gonna coach them in their epic battle to the death over Yumeno-chan!” Momota frowns and Ouma amends, “to the hurt feelings!”

Momota inspects Chabashira’s piece. “Okay, but I think I’m missing something here. Why are we doing this?”

“Because,” Ouma leans forward, “I don’t want to talk about us.”

-

The school is humming with exploration again, and Momota immediately notices that the knot of pain that had started building in his chest around this time is gone. Ouma sidles up next to him with a grin. “Thought I’d even the playing field, sicky.”

Momota swats his shoulder, and Ouma falls to the ground making fake dying noises. “T-Ten seconds in… and you resort to murder… Also,” Ouma sits up. “You’re missing your first opportunity to support team Chabashira-chan.”

Ouma nods towards the dojo as Saihara follows Chabashira and Yumeno inside. Momota still doesn’t know what the point of Ouma’s game is, but he does know a primal part of him really, really doesn’t want to lose. With a quick curse, he sprints across the school, and scares Saihara when he bursts through the dojo doors.

Saihara stammers at his sudden appearance. Chabashira places her hands on her hips, and Momota suddenly realizes he’s at a disadvantage in this competition. He jumps to speak before she gets a chance to kick him out on principle. “S-So cool dojo you got here. Thought I’d take the chance to watch you in action.” He nods to Yumeno, staring at him blankly. “Pretty cool to watch an Ultimate in action with their talent, right?”

She places a finger on her lower lip. “Like at my magic show?”

“Yeah!” Momota exclaims. Chabashira starts to glare at him for speaking too enthusiastically to Yumeno, and he pivots to Saihara with only a slight stutter. “O-Or when Shuuichi solves a case.”

“Ah, well, I don’t know about that,” Saihara says. “I mean, anyone probably could do what I did if they got lucky, too.”

Momota frowns. He knows what the goal of the game is, but ignoring Saihara feels wrong. He slaps a hand to his back. “Hey, there’s no such thing as luck, you hear me? You’re a good detective because you’re a good detective.”

Saihara opens his mouth likely to deny his compliment when Chabashira says, “Saihara-san, come here.”

He hesitates, and Momota assumes Saihara has roughly the same image of her yelling at him for engaging in male bonding in her private dojo in his head. He looks to Momota for advice, and Momota gives him a supportive smile as a little spark of happiness goes off inside of him. He’s spent so much time being arguing with Ouma and being dead that how much he liked encouraging others slipped his mind.

With his assurance, Saihara murmurs an, “o-okay,” and steps onto the mat. Chabashira gives him a once over. Then she grabs his arm and throws him to the ground in one swift movement. 

He mumbles his ows of pain, and Momota rushes to his side. Chabashira’s shadow looms over them, and Momota’s expecting an insult to the injury. Instead, she says, “Saihara-san… you really do lack confidence. It’s hard for you to believe any of your accomplishments are special or even accomplishments at all.”

Saihara stares up at her, open mouthed. “W-What?”

“Tenko can always tell when her opponent’s heart is in turmoil,” Chabashira says. “And you’re really scared of letting everyone down or hurting someone with your talent, aren’t you?”

Saihara’s second glance to Momota doesn’t send off the same happy jolt. Instead, he flushes and looks to the ground. “Ah, maybe… I don’t really know.”

Momota knows he just missed something. But at the same time, Saihara’s not his objective, and he has to keep his eye on the prize of defeating Ouma. “Hey, that’s a really cool power, Chabashira,” he says. “Why don’t you, uh, use it on Yumeno?”

“Tenko was going to!” Chabashira huffs to him.

Yumeno tunes back into the conversation long enough to say, “Wait, wha—” before she gets tossed to the ground with a resounding, “Nyeeeh—!”

Chabashira offers her a hand that Yumeno ignores as she huffs and puffs at what was likely the most physical activity she’s had in a long time. “Yumeno-san—”

“My… body hurts…” she moans to herself.

Saihara smiles in sympathy. “It does hurt a little, huh?”

Yumeno is still whining, and Momota claps Saihara on the back again. “Maybe, but that burn is all just part of the training. A little pain means you’re testing your limits, you know? Just like in our training, right Shuuichi?”

“I guess so,” Saihara says, tugging at his bangs.

“But I don’t want to train,” Yumeno says. “I don’t wanna get throw around, either.”

Chabashira fidgets, “Yumeno-san, you shouldn’t be afraid just because it’s a little hard work.” She pulls a face. “As much as Tenko hates to admit it, Momota-san has a point. Improving yourself can be painful at first, but if you give up then you’ll never make it to the other side as the beautiful person Tenko knows you can be.”

Momota smiles at her pearl of wisdom, but Yumeno doesn’t seem to share his approval. She pulls her hat down over her eyes. “My back still hurts.”

Saihara, of all people, speaks up to rescue the situation. “It’ll fade in a little while. I’m already feeling better. And Chabashira-san, what you just said reminds me a lot of what Momota-kun told me after…”

Momota realizes Chabashira would probably protest the comparison more if she didn’t pick up on the unspoken part of his sentence. “Well,” she crosses her arms. “It’s good to hear that a boy as obnoxious as Momota-san can do something right.”

“Hey! I’m great at lots of stuff!” he protests. He’d go on more, but a quick inventory of the room proves that Yumeno is already back to zoning out. He tugs at her arm, earning an annoyed grunt from Yumeno and a squawk from Chabashira. “Like, you can just do what I did with Shuuichi. Just tell her that if anything goes wrong, then—”

His advice is cut off as he suddenly finds himself upside down and then sprawled out on the mat below. Saihara scrambles to check on him, while Chabashira chastises him for touching Yumeno even if he did just want to help, and Yumeno makes her escape in the background. 

Saihara frets over him, showing far more concern than he had at his own injury. Momota brushes him off with a few assurances of how completely fine he is before turning to Chabashira. “Okay, so first, fucking warn me next time, but also now you know I just wanna help you, right? I, uh,” Momota wishes for just a second he was as quick on the draw to lie as Ouma always is. “I believe in your friendship with Yumeno, and I wanna help you guys through this rough patch.”

Chabashira stares at him suspiciously. “Weren’t you going to go take care of the situation with Harukawa-san?”

Momota blinks. He had forgotten about that. “Yeah, I’m gonna handle that, too, but it’s not like a guy can’t do two things at once.” He looks back to Saihara at his side. “Three things at once.”

“Well, you won’t have to,” Chabashira says. “Because Tenko’s friendship with Yumeno-san is perfect, and we don’t need help from a boy.”

“Okay, but,” Momota says. “The thing is you kind of do.”

Chabashira glares, and Saihara starts pulling on his sleeve in worry. “Momota-kun, maybe we should go…”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Momota says, letting himself be tugged away by Saihara. “But just so you know, I have a bad feeling about Angie, so when you do need help let me know.”

“Tenko won’t!”

“You will!”

Saihara keeps inspecting him for signs of injury, and on the way back to the school, Momota notices Yumeno wandering aimlessly and Angie prancing towards her. Ouma is nowhere in sight. “Little bastard isn’t even trying,” he huffs.

“Oh.” Saihara’s eyes widen. “I know Yumeno-san isn’t really trying to improve herself right now, but that’s a little harsh…”

“What? No, wait, I wasn’t talking about her,” Momota says. “I mean, I am, but she’s not a bastard. Ouma is.”

“Ouma-kun is—”

“Never mind,” Momota says quickly. “He’s not important. Actually, if you see him like creeping around Yumeno or Angie, let me know.” He rubs his chin. “And Chabashira, too. Wouldn’t put sabotage past him.”

Saihara is obviously befuddled but agrees with a hesitant, “r-right.”

“Hey, by the way,” he says. “I was just thinking about Chabashira—don’t you think she would be a great sidekick? I think we could really help her out.”

“Maybe,” Saihara says, obviously trying to think of a way to disagree without offending him. “And it’s very considerate of you that you want to help her and Yumeno-san get along, but I don’t know if she’d really want our help… she might just throw you again.”

Momota waves a hand. “So she’s a little rough around the edges, but still, you’ll help me out, right Shuuichi?”

“I can try,” Saihara says. “But if she doesn’t want help—”

“Don’t be stupid,” Momota says. “Of course she wants help. And if she doesn’t, then we’ll just give her some anyway. That’s what a hero does.” He looks down and says a second time, “right Shuuichi?”

Momota knows somewhere deep down that if he looks at Saihara—especially a Saihara in this moment—with a big enough smile and enough confidence, he’ll agree to anything he says. He also decides to blame Ouma and his game for forcing his hand into forcing Saihara.

“Well, if you think it’s a good idea,” Saihara says. “And you really want to do it, then I’ll try to help however I can.”

“That’s my sidekick!” Momota says, patting his shoulder. “Knew you’d come through for me.”

“A-Ah, I try to.”

Even with Saihara’s agreement to help Momota doesn’t have a clear idea of what his next step is and lets himself be guided by Saihara to the group meeting. Everyone gathers together and stays on script, including Ouma, nonchalantly mentioning he didn’t invite Harukawa to the meeting.

“Oh, fuck, I forgot about her,” Momota says. “You guys just hold on one second.”

He begins to dart back of the room when Ouma says, “I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Momota rolls his eyes. “Haven’t we had this fucking conversation enough times already?”

The others mumble in confusion while Ouma smiles. “Eye on the prize, Momota-chan. My advice to you. Little handout since you’re already losing.”

Momota wants to bite back, but Yumeno’s already on the far side of the room with Angie, away from Chabashira. “Fine,” he grits out. “Let’s just get this damn meeting over with.”

They watch the Flashback Light, and Momota taps out a bored rhythm on his leg as everyone else expresses their surprise. Ouma chimes in, and Momota has no idea how he has the patience to go through the repetitive motions. Yet when the surprise turns to panic, Momota can’t resist stepping in with a few words of comfort, and Ouma quiets. 

Ouma dashes out of the room entirely once the meeting is unofficially declared finished, giving him a wink and not sparing a single glance towards Angie. Momota waves a fist after him and shouts, “what happened to fucking eye on the prize!?” down the hall after him.

Saihara places a placating hand on his shoulder, returning his familiar gesture. “Momota-kun, are you in a fight with Ouma-kun?”

“Always,” Momota snorts. “But forget about him. Where’s Chabashira?”

“She left a little while ago, I think.”

“Okay,” Momota says. “Then we’re chasing her down.”

“I-I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Saihara stammers. 

“Well, too bad, I have some shit I need to say to her.” He grins down at Saihara. “Come on, trust me.”

Saihara follows after him and assists in retrieving an icepack from the kitchen to press to the red handprint on Momota’s face. Momota takes a second to soothe his injury and his ego before announcing, “alright lesson learned. Next time, I’ll talk faster and get to the point before she can slap me for cornering her.”

“To be honest,” Saihara says. “I think maybe we should… take her seriously when she said, um, loudly that she wanted us to leave her alone.”

“Not gonna happen,” Momota says. “Her friendship with Yumeno is in peril and as heroes we need to do something, whether she wants our help or not.”

Saihara worries his hands. “I know that, but… can you really help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?”

“‘Course you can,” Momota says. “Also, Shuuichi, the situation is a bit more complicated than you think, but I can’t get into that right now. Just,” he gestures with the hand not pressing the ice pack to his face, “know there’s a lot more nuance and shit going on right now.”

Saihara places his hand over his mouth. Momota is quick in his stammering, “hey—hey don’t go detective mode on me right now. If you wanna know the reason, it’s just—I just really like Chabashira, okay?”

Saihara eyes the fading imprint on Momota’s face. “Do you?”

“Yes!” Momota exclaims. Then he starts to think about it, and all the things Ouma listed off before they started their game. “I… really do actually.”

Saihara doesn’t try to argue anymore. 

The night he’s supposed to talk to Harukawa, Momota rings Chabashira’s doorbell over and over again while Saihara shifts from foot to foot nervously next to him. Angie greets them on her own door to door visits and only smiles in return when Momota tells her to fuck off. There are still no signs of Ouma, and he doesn’t even answer his door when Angie rings for him. Saihara follows his attentive gaze towards Ouma’s door for a second too long, and Momota goes back to hammering away at Chabashira’s doorbell. 

Momota is quick to stick his foot in the doorframe the second she answers the door, already expecting it to get slammed in his face. “Hey, Chabashira—”

“Tenko told you to stop harassing her.”

“Okay, yeah, but I have something really important to show you right now.”

Her glare only gets more suspicious. “Momota-san, Tenko will not hesitate to—”

“No, look,” Momota says, leaning out of the way just enough to bring Angie into Chabashira’s view. 

Chabashira’s eyes widen and she watches for a few seconds as Shirogane answers her door for Angie. “Did she already…”

“Yumeno was her first stop,” Momota says. “The cult’s gonna be up and running tomorrow, so we gotta make a plan to fight back now.”

Chabashira bites her lip and with a pained sigh invites them into her room. Before Momota can launch into his grand plan, Chabashira sits heavily on her couch, burying her face in her hands. “Tenko just doesn’t understand. Why can’t Yumeno-san see what Angie-san’s doing?”

“What exactly is Angie-san doing?” Saihara asks.

“Yumeno-san gets tired really easily,” Chabashira says. “So she just gives up and lets other people tell her what to do, and Angie-san is encouraging that. Do you remember at the trial? Yumeno-san barely fought back for herself, especially when Angie-san started accusing her. A-And Angie-san doesn’t care about her! She just wants to use her because she’ll do whatever she wants!”

“I hear you,” Momota says. “If you’ve got one person saying you need to improve yourself and one person telling you everything’s already fine, ‘course you’re gonna try and take the easiest route. And that’s why we’re here to help.”

“Do you have a plan, Momota-kun?” Saihara asks.

He presses his fists together. “I think I do. Chabashira, you just need to tell Yumeno all of this without any distractions, and I’m sure she’ll come to her senses. Me and Shuuichi will distract Angie.”

Saihara seems worried at the vagueness on their course of action, while Chabashira fidgets. “Will that really work? Tenko tried to talk to Yumeno-san earlier today, but she just got mad…”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Momota says. “It happens to me all the time. You just gotta power through it.” He grins at her. “Like with you.”

That gets him a scowl. “Tenko still doesn’t regret slapping you… even if you seem marginally more tolerable now.” She studies him and Saihara. “Is that what you did with Saihara-san?”

“Huh? Oh no, but,” he slaps Saihara on the back. “I definitely would have kept bugging him if he tried to run away. You know, Shuuichi, you kinda remind me of Yumeno.”

“I guess I can see that,” Saihara says. “But, um, I don’t think Chabashira-san would appreciate it if you compared yourself to her.”

“What? Why not? We’re definitely on the same wave-length when it comes to emotions and facing your fears and standing up for people in need. Right Chabashira?”

Chabashira frowns, obviously unhappy with whatever conclusion she’s coming to. “Maybe… we have a few things in common, but if you try to ask Tenko for a hug, she is no longer responsible for her actions.”

With the exceptions of a few protests in his defense, talking to Chabashira turns into a strange feedback loop. After spending so much time trapped with Ouma, talking to someone who agrees with his every idea is almost surreal. Each declaration of the importance of improvement and living life openly and to the fullest is parroted back between them, while Saihara drops out of the conversation, sitting quietly in the glow of it. 

Their positivity only tapers when Chabashira says, “Tenko really doesn’t understand why Yumeno-san likes Angie-san so much, either. Angie-san says she wants everyone to be happy, but really she just wants to control everyone into liking her for her own benefit. Why can’t Yumeno-san see that?”

“I don’t know,” Momota says with a snort. “But I do fucking know a guy who’s just like Angie. He makes up all these stupid lies to manipulate everyone, and he always goes on and on about his own fucked up ideology he’s always trying to force on everyone. And—” he bounces on Chabashira’s sofa in his excitement, “he always does the exact same thing as Angie—you know, always smiling and pretending to be happy, never saying what they’re really thinking.”

“Exactly!” Chabashira shouts back. “She’s always hiding and suppressing all of her emotions because it’s easier than being honest with yourself. And so Tenko never knows what she really thinks about anyone or if she ever means any of the things she says or—”

“Yes! And then like he has this stupid phrase, he uses whenever anyone tries to call him out on his bullshit—”

“Angie-san says it was all Atua—”

“—that it was a lie—”

“So she doesn’t have to listen!”

“So you can’t argue back!”

Saihara’s soft voice brings Momota down from his frenzy. “They seem like difficult people when you put it that way. Angie-san and… Momota-kun’s mystery person.”

Momota rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, he’s a real pain. Always feels like I’m banging my head against a wall whenever I try and talk to him.”

“Then,” Saihara says, “why don’t you stop?”

“What do you mean?”

Saihara shifts under the twin gazes on him. “I just mean, if they’re so frustrating, why do you keep arguing with them?”

“Because Angie-san is obviously wrong,” Chabashira says. “And she keeps trying to get other people on her side.”

He winces. “I know how you feel about Yumeno-san, but… there are other girls you could talk to if you don’t want to be around Angie-san anymore. I’m sure Iruma-san would appreciate—”

“That’s quitter talk, Shuuichi,” Momota says. “You can’t honestly just tell someone to back down from a fight like this. You think that when Ou—when the guy I was talking about says a bunch of stupid shit to my face, I’m just gonna walk away?”

Saihara gives him a measured stare. “I don’t have all the details for your situation, but… is there a point in arguing with someone who’s never going to see things your way?”

“Yes!” Momota shouts. “‘Cause if he just listened to me, then he’d be a lot happier and better off, and,” he gestures at Chabashira, “if Angie saw things your way, we wouldn’t even be having this problem. Actually, you know what? We’ve been looking at this wrong. We’ve gotta convince Angie, too. Good idea, Shuuichi.”

Saihara blinks. “Ah, that wasn’t really the point I was trying to—”

“That’s right!” Chabashira says. “If Tenko can convince Angie-san, then we’ll all be friends!”

“Exactly!”

Saihara tries one more time, quietly asking, “can you be friends with everyone?”

“Course you can, Shuuichi! You just gotta try a little harder!”

The next morning, the announcement of the motive still makes Momota’s skin crawl, but Angie collects it from the Monokubs soon enough to announce the creation of the student council. Her, Gonta, Kiibo, Yumeno, and Shirogane. Ouma is on the far side of the room, still silent.

They announce their message of peace, and Angie follows it up with her girls swim party. Chabashira had threatened him when he revealed his knowledge of this event ahead of time, but Momota figured it was still the best time to put things into action. Gonta and Kiibo wouldn’t be there, and Shirogane was wallpaper at this point. 

The only thing in the way of his meticulously plotted plan now was Ouma. Ouma wasn’t actually doing anything at the moment, but the conversation they had had the night before replays in Momota’s mind with every glance at the other boy. 

But Ouma doesn’t move from his spot or do anything of interest even as Angie leads Shirogane and Yumeno out of the gym. Ouma hasn’t done anything their entire game.

Saihara and Chabashira both call out to him, but Momota can’t help himself. He storms over to Ouma. “Are you really not trying at all?” he says. “I’m about to go win, you know.”

Ouma inspects his fingernails. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Yup. Congratulations on your win, Momota-chan.”

Momota narrows his eyes. “I don’t believe it for a fucking second. You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

He folds his hands behind his head. “I’m really not. Like I said, congratulations.”

“Bullshit, something’s going on with you.”

“There really isn’t.”

They have silent standoff for a few long seconds. “Momota-san!” Chabashira calls out. “We need to go.”

“She’s right,” Ouma says. “Go win. Have fun. No need to fight little ol’ me.”

Momota looks him up and down for a second longer. Ouma squawks in protest when Momota grabs him by the arm, dragging him behind him. Chabashira and Saihara both stare at him in confusion. “This guy’ll fuck things up if we don’t keep an eye on him.” 

He marches out of the room, giving them no time to argue. “What does Ouma-kun have to do with anything?” Saihara asks, hurrying to stay in step with him.

“Everything,” Momota says. “Everything is about him.”

Saihara sends Ouma suspicious look that he returns with a merry wave. Saihara lowers his voice. “Is Ouma-kun the person you were talking about last night?”

“Momota-chan was talking about me?”

“Shut up!” Momota snaps. “And yeah—but don’t worry. I’ve got him under control.”

Saihara isn’t convinced, but they’re already at the pool. The girls have yet to change and all whip around to face them. Momota finally lets go of Ouma to point a challenging finger at Angie. “Angie, I challenge you for control of the school. I know you have the fucking motive, and I’m not leaving until you hand it over.”

“Oh, but Kaito,” Angie says. “Atua said that Angie should hold onto it. Even members of the student council aren’t allowed to—”

“I don’t give a fuck about your made up god!” Momota shouts. “You need to stop hiding behind lies and face me man-to-man for once in your life! You just keep bullshitting because you’re afraid of everyone, and I’m tired of being pushed away because you can’t get over yourself!”

Angie taps her chin. “Kaito, Angie doesn’t think we’ve ever really hung out before. What are you talking about?”

Momota isn’t listening. He dives for the book. Shirogane screams as both Momota and Angie crash into the pool. Chabashira takes the moment to shuffle around the chaos and pull Yumeno aside. The world outside of his flailing splashes has gone silent. Even Angie seems like a nonentity in their grapple. 

From his spot beside Saihara, Ouma lets out a low whistle. “Never mind, I’m happy Momota-chan brought me here to watch this.” He giggles. “Also I had no idea Momota-chan was so hung up on me. Sounds like someone has a crush!”

Saihara isn’t nearly as amused at the quip as he was expecting. He doesn’t even get any stammering or blushes. Instead, he’s met with a hard look. “I think you need to leave Momota-kun alone.”

“Excuse me?” Ouma says. “He brought me here. You saw the whole thing, Saihara-chan.”

“I know,” Saihara says. “But… I think you should leave. Momota-kun is a very good and honest person, and I don’t know what you’ve done but you’ve really messed with his head.”

“Not my fault—”

“No, I think it is,” Saihara sighs. “If you heard the way he was talking about you last night… Either just be nicer or stay away from him. This limbo you’re in right now leads to…” he looks back up to Momota’s strange meltdown in the middle of the swimming pool. “This.”

Ouma watches them silently for a moment. Yumeno walks by them, a deep frown on her face, but no other acknowledgement. There isn’t even a call out to her. Momota hasn’t noticed. “When did you grow a backbone?” Ouma asks.

Saihara does hesitate then. “I… I don’t like it when people hurt my friends.”

“And I’ve hurt Momota-chan?”

“You’ve…” Angie manages to escape from the pool once the motive has been reduced to a pile of water soaked mulch. Momota doesn’t seem to realize she’s gone as he keeps tearing at the book’s remains. “You’ve done something to him.”

Ouma glances up at Saihara and the way he stares at Momota with such pure, distilled worry. “I never had a chance did I?”

Saihara doesn’t look at him, and asks a distracted, “a chance at what?”

“Do you hate me?”

Saihara blinks and finally looks back at him. “What?”

“Sorry, better question,” Ouma says. “How long have you hated me for?”

“I—what are you talking about?”

Ouma sighs. “Nothing.” Then he smirks. “Just don’t get too mad when you get wet.”

Without another word of warning, Ouma cannonballs into the pool, sending a crashing wave of water up over the side. He swims out to Momota standing waste deep in water and relatively calmed down. “Hey there,” he says. “Done with your breakdown?”

Momota’s expression takes a sharp turn from tired to frenzied as he makes the awkward charge towards Ouma through the water. He doesn’t think Momota’s actively trying to drown him, but he sure is jumping on him enough that Ouma kicks back at his arms.

Wrestling in a swimming pool while Saihara nervously watches isn’t exactly how Ouma expected they would resolve their issues, but is seems like there’s no backpedaling now. “Why are you so fucking difficult!?” Momota screams at him. “All I want is to help, and you’ve given me nothing but shit!”

“I don’t want your help!” 

“Yes, you do!”

“Get off of me!”

“No!”

At some point, Angie and Shirogane leave, and Chabashira says something to Saihara before making her own exit. But Ouma barely notices any of that. It’s just him and Momota tearing away at each other in a desperate attempt to understand each other. When Ouma has a clearer head, sitting at the side of the pool, he thinks that’s all these simulations have been. It’s really all the initial killing game was, too.

Saihara fusses over Momota with towels and words of comfort while Ouma is content to sit cross legged and dripping wet. They don’t really need to bother with drying themselves, all things considered, but Momota presses the towel Saihara offers to his face. Ouma realizes that somewhere in their fight Momota had started crying in his frustration, but he lets him have his silence.

Instead, he asks Saihara, “so operation Chabashira-Yumeno friends forever was a success?”

“Uh, no,” Saihara says. “Chabashira-san told me that after their talk, she decided she was going to talk to Iruma-san instead.”

Ouma hums. “Looks like forcing help and friendship doesn’t work, Momota-chan.”

Momota’s voice is cracked and muffled. “Fuck you.”

Saihara kneels at Momota’s side. “Ouma-kun, I think Momota-kun needs a minute. Can you go dry yourself off in the lockers or your room?”

“Aw, but I thought the three of us could be friends.”

Saihara’s glare turns sharp and his tone takes on a note that’s been permanently engraved in the back of Ouma’s mind. “Ouma-kun, haven’t you—”

Ouma takes them back. Momota still has his face buried in his hands. “Fuck. That was… fuck.”

Ouma closes his eyes. For some reason, the eternity to make it out of his grave seems a lot shorter all of a sudden. “Momota-chan.”

“Fine, whatever,” Momota says. “I lost. Brag as much as you want, call me an idiot, I don’t care. Just—”

“You were right,” he says. “We should talk about us. Even if it hurts.” The game board changes before Ouma’s eyes. “And it will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took a bit of a break after finishing Momota week to graduate from college, but here is chapter 3! I know I've always seen a bit of a parallel between Ouma-Saihara-Momota and Angie-Yumeno-Tenko, and I wanted to take a bit of time to explore that here!


	4. Parallel World

Momota stares at Ouma’s passive face, then the new game board between them, then Ouma again. Ouma keeps his expression level and his movements relaxed, though he’s more than aware Momota has to know it’s an act. For all his naiveté, even Momota can’t take Ouma’s calmness at face value when he’s agreed to stop running away. 

“Ouma…” Momota breathes out.

He may not be running, but Ouma can still delay the inevitable. “It’s funny,” he says. “Maybe we weren’t super best friends forever, but we had some fun before that little trip to Iruma-chan’s virtual world.”

Momota recalls the nosedive their relationship took when they were alive with a frown. “How is that funny?”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Ouma says. “It’s funny that I’m gonna try to make it up to you now. Lil’ irony—the good ol’ reversal of expectations. Little bit of—”

“Okay, okay I get it,” he says just to stop Ouma’s chatter. Then the meaning behind Ouma’s nonsense hits him. “Wait—are you serious? You’re actually…”

Momota trails off in his own amazement. Ouma rolls his eyes. “Before you start getting all mushy, you should know I’m doing this for entirely selfish reasons. Though that did just backfire.”

Ouma hums. Momota raises an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“The last simulation,” he says. “It wasn’t actually a punishment, you know. I thought you’d have fun gossiping with Chabashira-chan and Saihara-chan about how nasty and naughty I am.”

Momota frowns, considering his point. “So… it was supposed to be an outlet or some shit?”

“You got it. Figured I’d give you a little vacation, but you still couldn’t keep your mind off of me.” Ouma giggles. “You know, I was joking earlier, but not being able to get someone out of your head sounds like typical crush behavior to me.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Honestly, I’m flattered you can’t stop thinking about me. Maybe it’s a little obsessive and creepy, but—”

“Cut the bullshit,” Momota snaps. “You know exactly why I—”

“Why you broke down?” Ouma finishes.

That shuts Momota up, and he looks somewhere to Ouma’s side while he clenches his fists in his lap. His voice is a soft mumble when he protests, “it wasn’t a breakdown… I just…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ouma says, leaning back in his chair. “Saihara-chan spelled out the situation very clearly for me. Leave it to him to take all the mystery out of something even when he’s just a useless NPC.”

Momota meets his eyes again at Saihara’s name, and Ouma hates that just a little. “Shuuichi said something to you?”

“Yeah, but it was really boring.” Ouma waves a dismissive hand. “I kinda zoned out for most of it, which really isn’t his fault to be fair. I just have narcolepsy that’s triggered by speeches about friendship.”

Momota squeezes his eyes shut. “Didn’t you just say you were going to stop being a dick and apologize to me like five seconds ago?”

“I did. You’re a very good listener, Momota-chan.” His patronizing tone earns him a scowl. Ouma smirks. He might as well get all the fun he can before going through hell. “But I’m doing something bigger right now. An apology is just a band-aid. If we really want to be best friends forever, we have to get to the root of the problem.”

“Well,” Momota rubs his chin. “Think we’re gonna have different opinions about whatever root shit you’re talking about, but… can’t say I disagree with you.”

“Why would you? I’m very smart, you know. And besides, I know if I were you, I’d want to know why I turned a perfectly innocuous break into hell all by myself.”

Momota doesn’t get angry at the accusation like Ouma assumed he would. Despite Momota’s earlier outburst and mild drowning attempt, Ouma does think that death has dulled his temper. Or maybe it’s easier to think and talk out problems when the threat of a killing game isn’t looming over their heads—only the placid hell that is each other. Either way, it’s interesting and somewhat disappointing. Angry Momota who shouts and says dumb things and trips over himself was always a joy in his life. A little light in his killing game life that Ouma would hate to lose in death. 

Of course, Ouma would only ever share that fact when paired with batted eyes and a declaration of love for the purposes of summoning angry Momota. 

“I…” Momota says after working his jaw a few times. “I want to believe in you. But…” he presses both hands to his eyes. “Fuck. I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”

His phrasing is prime material for another jab, but Ouma decides to be merciful. “Guess I’m just special, huh?”

Momota drops his hands heavily on the table. He isn’t glaring at Ouma, baring his teeth, or showing any of the usual signs of irritation. Instead, he just looks miserable. “One way to put it. You always manage to be the exception and fuck everything up…”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. But don’t feel too bad, Momota-chan. Learning to not believe someone who’s just going to trick you over and over again is a good thing.” He shoots him a beaming smile. “It means I’ve helped you grow up, so what you really should say is ‘thank you for the valuable lesson.’” 

Momota shoots him an unimpressed look. “You want me to thank you for trying to make me as jaded and cynical as you? Cut the high and mighty bullshit, dude. You have to know that’s not a good thing.”

“I cannot believe you’re accusing me of being ‘high and mighty’ on, like, anything.” Ouma raises an eyebrow. “Also really? Becoming more world-weary is a great thing in my opinion. You can’t be an innocent little baby forever.”

“It’s not ‘innocence’ or whatever. It’s,” he gestures vaguely, “the world is horrible because people like you keep trying to convince other people that the world is horrible. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have faith in others or, fuck, just wanting to be a nice fucking person.”

Ouma’s mouth grows into a thin line. “No, there’s not.”

“You’re,” Momota says slowly, “agreeing with me?”

Ouma considers the question. “Partially. I think that the world would be better if we all agreed to believe a few nice lies like that. Everything’s fair, everyone is a good person deep down, everything—”

“Why are you so convinced those things are lies?” Momota asks. “Why is that with you the truth is always something fucking awful?”

Ouma eyes him carefully. Momota has recovered from his breakdown somewhere in their conversation and is getting heated up again. Good, Ouma thinks. “Because that’s the way things are.”

“It’s not!” Momota shouts, both hands coming down to slam on the table as he rises to his feet. Ouma can practically see the impassioned flames in his eyes growing with each word. “Maybe shit isn’t perfect, but there are good things that are worth believing in like friendship and justice and—and your dreams and yourself! And that things can get better and people can change and everyone deserves a second chance and—”

“And I ruined some of those things for you?” Ouma asks coolly. 

Momota’s hands clench into fists. 

Ouma shifts in his chair, crossing his legs and folding his hands in front of him. “As I’m currently on my nice guy kick, I can play therapist. Tell me about your childhood.” Momota sends him an unimpressed look. “Also when did you stop believing in me?” He waves a hand towards the game board. “After I killed Gonta, right?”

Momota’s eyes follow his gesture, and his gaze is locked on the table when he speaks. “Stop fucking around. It’s… no,” he takes a shuddering breath. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Really?” Ouma says. “You did spite vote for me. That was something.”

Momota groans, slumping back into his chair. “That was stupid.”

“Nah, I kinda liked it! Who doesn’t love the thrill of giving a classy middle finger here and there to their one true hate?”

“‘True hate?’” Momota asks.

“Opposite of true love, dummy.”

“I’m not dumb,” Momota says on reflex. “And I have a lot of fucking problems with you, and I did hate you in that moment, but,” he shakes his head. “Like I said. It’s complicated.”

Ouma hums. “Well, if you’re serious about our relationship—and I would be just heartbroken if you weren’t—why don’t we start with that?”

“With what?”

“Tell me the worst thing I’ve done to you,” Ouma says. Momota stares at him slack jawed, and Ouma shrugs, following up with, “we can both take a turn if you want.”

Momota shifts uneasily. He had been so eager to list off every problem he had with Ouma before that his silence draws attention. “You go first.”

Ouma surveys him a second time. Flustered Momota is fun. But uncomfortable Momota is a rarely seen creature. “To be honest,” he leans back in his chair. “And you know how much I hate being honest—I got nothing. Your whole attitude sort of pissed me off, but it never made me hide in my room and cry.”

“You, uh,” Momota rubs the back of his head. “You did hide in your room once ‘cause of me.”

“I remember,” he says. “But I was gonna let that slide. Figure with all the kidnapping, shit stirring, and post-death torture I did that that was water under the bridge. But then again, I’m a forgiving guy! Never held a grudge once in my life. Can you believe it?”

“No. Just—look,” Momota sighs. “I had a hell of time finding you after the punch, so I never got to explain why I did it, huh?”

Ouma nods pointedly to the table. “Now seems like a great time to enlighten me.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he snorts. “Short version, I could tell you were fucking losing it, and somebody had to do something to shake some sense into you. I,” and his hand goes back to its spot at the back of his neck. “I don’t want to talk shit about the others, but they kinda just let you run wild whenever you’d go off like that. Well, all of them except Harumaki. She’d—”

“Try and strangle me to death? Shockingly, I am aware of that one.”

Momota at least has the decency to wince at his sidekick’s less than savory behavior. “I kept telling her to quit doing that…”

“You should have given us shorter leashes, Momota-chan,” Ouma says. “Then maybe the two of us wouldn’t be here at all.” Momota winces a second time. Ouma tilts his head. “Is that a touchy subject for you? That Harumaki-chan…” Ouma tilts his head the other way. “No, I think I get it.”

Momota is doing his best to pretend he’s not as transparent as he is. “Get what?”

Ouma shakes his head. “Your little martyr routine earlier was a dead giveaway. But!” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m getting ahead of myself. Our wonderful murder-suicide pact is game number five, and I will not tolerate any sequence breaking. Ruins the whole game.”

“That’s where you draw a fucking line?”

“Of course. What would a gamer be without their principles?”

Momota presses his hand to his forehead. “You know, when you’re not being a dick or pretending to be evil and shit, you’re just a weird fucking guy.”

Ouma sticks his tongue out. “You just don’t understand gamer pride.”

“Can you just,” Momota waves a hand towards the board, “do whatever stupid game you wanna do and get it over with?”

“Bossy, bossy.” Ouma puffs out his cheeks. “You have to give me a minute to think.”

“Really? You always seemed like you had some shit ready before.”

“Well, this time I want to teach you a lesson without making you miserable, and I just don’t have as much experience with that. Sorry we can’t all win Mr. Congeniality like you.”

Momota raises an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”

Ouma tears his gaze from the game board. “It’s a fact.”

Momota still seems conflicted at the accusation, and when in doubt of Ouma’s meaning, he tends towards the defensive. “Hey, you can’t just—”

“You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”

Ouma lets his words hang in the air, bold and honest, and Momota looks even more startled than when he emerged from Ouma’s horror movie. He blinks in rapid succession. “Uh, thanks?”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Momota furrows his eyebrows, even more confusion setting in before Ouma clarifies. “You and Gonta are two of the nicest, most trusting people I have ever met, and I killed both of you.” Momota’s still stunned, and Ouma levels his challenging question as passively as possible. “What do you think of that?”

He sputters for a second, as expected. “I—what does you being an asshole have to do with me being nice?”

“Nice people get taken advantage of by assholes, sure,” Ouma says. “But nice people also get taken advantage of by other nice people, don’t you think?”

“No?” Momota says. “If you’re a nice fucking person, you wouldn’t—”

“But you would.” With no teacup, Ouma traces circles on the smooth surface of the table with his fingertips, and he feels Momota’s eyes train on the movement. “There’s a saying, you know. To live is to hurt others. Just by virtue of existing and trying to carve out some corner of the world for yourself, you’re going to brush up against other people and hurt them.”

Momota snorts and crosses his arms. “That’s the bullshit I was talking about earlier—the truth is always something awful for you because you’re so negative all the time. Who even said that shit?”

Ouma grins. “A serial killer.”

“That just proves my fucking point! The only people who really think that way are you and—”

“And other fucked up people like me?”

Momota deflates slightly. “Uh, yeah. Not that you’re a serial killer, but just… You know, you’re a shithead and… so are serial killers.”

Ouma smiles to himself. He’s always been fond of Momota’s clumsy metaphors even when they’re at his expense. “You swear too much, Momota-chan. You’re sunshine in a coat, and you say the filthiest things. Maybe I should throw out my new plan and just dedicate some time to washing your mouth out with soap.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Momota rolls his eyes. “You don’t really give a shit about how I talk.”

“I’m not going to start a swear jar, no,” he says. “But I think it’s interesting. Someone with bad fashion sense once said communication is important, no? Aren’t you ruining your own communication by being so rude?”

“Dude, I’m not going to let you of all people fucking lecture me on being rude.”

“Fair enough.” Ouma smiles. “But why do you talk like that? You were raised in space, not on the streets.”

Momota frowns. “Okay, no, I was…” he seems sheepish all of a sudden, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I grew up in the country. Or, um…”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter if the memories are false,” Ouma says. “They’re the ones I’m interested in.”

Momota still hesitates. “I think I did spend a lot of time on the street or alleys and shit doing stupid—” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. 

“Don’t force it. Like I said, I’m only interested in the Momota-chan I know.”

He says it as dismissively as possible, but it’s a reassuring sentiment nonetheless. “I, um, yeah,” Momota says, trying to get his bearings back. “I lived out in the country with my grandparents. Lots of stars, lots of fucking around in my backyard fighting imaginary shit with wooden swords and crap.”

“Some very foul mouthed imaginary friends, I take it. Fell in with the wrong fake crowd.”

“No, idiot, just,” he’s obviously embarrassed, and each stutter makes Ouma’s smile grow. “So I watched a bunch of TV, okay? And the heroes in those shows, they always—”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I’ll have you know I am a connoisseur of all manga.” He shrugs. “Though shonen was also never really my thing. Too manly. Thought I might get testosterone poisoning reading some of it.”

Momota’s frown is different than the ones before it. “Well, maybe you just didn’t give it a chance.”

Ouma leans forward. A lighthearted argument seems like fun after all the personal poking and prodding. “Too many speeches about friendship and doing your best aimed at children, too. Though, I can see why that would appeal to you.”

“Okay, maybe some of it’s for kids, but it’s still really good.” He snorts. “You probably like something weird that doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“Maybe to you. My favorites have always been horror.” He winks. Momota grimaces at sheer mention of the genre. “But that’s a lie.”

“Doesn’t sound like one to me.”

“It is, though,” Ouma says. “It just fits your perception of me, so you believe it. Gotta match your lie to your audience, Momota-chan.”

Momota rolls his eyes. “Is there a point to this?”

“Mhmm. For me this was all very revealing. But while we’re sharing, you should know my very favorite manga started off as horror and became one of your friendship fest adventure series.” He steeples his hands. “What do you think of that?”

“Uh, nothing really. Maybe the guy just got sick of writing dark shit all the time. I know I would.”

Ouma hums. “I think you can only appreciate the darkness when you have something happy and light to contrast it with and vice versa. And that,” he gestures to himself, “is why I am so much more fashionable than you.”

That earns him a groan. “Was all of that really just so you could insult me?”

Ouma giggles. “Not all of it. Like I said, I learned something about you! Isn’t sharing fun?”

“It is when you know the other person isn’t going to be an asshole,” Momota says. “Like, I’d read manga and shit with you if you promised not be a dickhead about it.”

“But if I did promise, would you believe me?”

It takes Momota a second, but he realizes quickly enough that they’ve come full circle. “No,” he sighs. “And you said some shit about trying to fix that, right?”

“So you do listen to me sometimes,” Ouma says. “And you’re probably going to want to listen to this.” He takes a deep breath, trying to draw on his endless internal composure before he begins to choose words that feel like pulling teeth. “You said to Angie-chan that I pushed everyone away because I was afraid of them, and you weren’t right but you weren’t wrong either. But I’m not afraid of you.”

Momota blinks. “Uh, glad to hear it.”

“You should be,” Ouma says, managing to smile despite himself. Confession has always felt like a special kind of redemption to him—the sort of penance that comes from being flayed alive or set on fire. 

“I’m not afraid of you either,” Momota says in an effort to be comforting. Ouma’s smile grows a bit more sympathetic at Momota’s unrelenting impulse to comfort all the monsters in his life. “I don’t really trust you right now. I wish I could, but… I don’t think I’m ever gonna be afraid of you.”

“Fear is very different for us, but I already knew that,” Ouma says. “The point is I’m not just going to change myself for anyone, but… I want to stop hurting you.” Momota’s eyes widen, and Ouma is quick in his follow up to drain away the sincerity. “Everyone else is fair game, though, which by the way is a huge red flag in a relationship. You should breakup with me right now if you know what’s good for you.”

Momota sighs. “I’m just gonna ignore that last part.”

“Glad to hear we’re still together, then!”

Momota puts his head in his hands. “Quit fucking around. You know what I mean.”

“I do, and you should know what I mean.” That earns him another confused expression. “There’s something I want to show you, but I want to do it in a way where I’m the only one getting hurt.”

“Wha—hey,” Momota snaps to attention. “Look, I want you to stop fucking with me, but you don’t need to do something like that. Torturing yourself isn’t going to—”

“I won’t defend myself. So your mission,” Ouma says, “is to save me.”

Ouma changes before him, his features rounding and becoming more simplified. The others are there, appearing one by one in the virtual world. 

Momota glances around to fully process his new environment as Iruma starts to go off on her explanation of the finer points of her program’s mechanics. Half of it is lies, but he ignores it for the time being in favor of exchanging a pointed nod with Ouma. Even with his avatar’s limited range of expressions, Ouma manages to get his point across and everything becomes clear.

Stop Iruma’s murder without sacrificing anyone. Momota thinks it can’t be that hard, especially given that Iruma folds easier than his jacket when anyone raises their voice at her. “Hey!” he barks, interrupting her speech.

Iruma glares at him. “I wasn’t done yet, limp dick.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he dismisses before turning to address everyone with a clap of his hands. “Alright, here’s the situation. This whole thing is just Iruma’s trap to try and murder Ouma.”

The other react with a range of shock and dubiousness. Saihara asks a startled “What?” while Iruma starts to screech behind him, already sweating buckets. 

“W-Wait! What the fuck did you just say!? That’s not—”

“Momota-kun,” Kiibo says, sending nervous looks between him and Iruma. “That is quite the accusation.”

“I guess?” Momota says with a shrug. “It’s true, though.”

“N-No, it’s not!” Iruma shouts. “I haven’t done shit!”

“Yeah, but you’re planning to,” he says. “Anyway, we should probably get out of here and figure out—”

“H-Hold on,” Gonta says. “Gonta is confused. We all just decided to go into the ver-chew-al world together, but—”

Momota waves a hand. “Okay, I didn’t know then that we shouldn’t, but I do now. Just trust me on this one.”

Iruma points a trembling finger at him. “Alright, asshole! I see what you’re doing. You think that just because you’re more popular than me, you can get everyone to turn on me, so you can fucking shank me in my sleep!”

“No, I—wait what?”

“Um, Momota-kun,” Saihara says diplomatically. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but that was really sudden.”

“Well yeah, but it’s right. Come on,” he returns his skeptical expression with a smile. “You’re my sidekick. Believe in me.”

“Ah, well—”

“Nu-uh, no, no way,” Iruma stammers. “Doesn’t matter how long you’ve been fucking. Detectives need to proof, right Shittyhara?”

“All the proof he needs is—”

“I do have to agree with Iruma-san,” Kiibo interjects. “It doesn’t make logical sense to accuse someone of attempted murder without—”

“If we wait for proof, then Ouma’s gonna be fucking dead, which is why I’m trying to tell you—”

“I slaved over this program all night, and you—”

Saihara is more confident at this stage of the game, but he still shrinks at the argument going on around him. Harukawa rolls her eyes. “This is stupid.” Her voice cuts through the noise. “Look, we all know Momota can’t lie and that Iruma is unreliable, so,” she turns to Momota. “Just tell us how you know so we can get this over with.”

He can’t help the frustrated groan that escapes him. Ouma stays in the back of the room keeping true to his promise not to defend himself. Momota rubs the back of his neck. “Like I said, you guys are just going to have to trust me on this one. I promise I’m not lying.”

There’s a moment of silence as at least a few of the people in the room debate the merit of his words. Then Shirogane says, “But, um, if you’re saying this place is all just Iruma-san’s trap, doesn’t that conflict with what Monokuma told us? He said there was a hint about the outside world in here, so if we just leave…”

“That is correct,” Kiibo says. “My inner voice is telling me we cannot just give up our goal on baseless suspicion.”

Momota slaps a hand to his forehead. “Alright, no, you two are both full of shit.” He sounds more exhausted than anything as he waves a hand vaguely in their direction and announces as casually as possible, “Kiibo, your inner voice is evil, and Shirogane’s the mastermind.”

The room erupts again. Shirogane and Kiibo both clamber for their innocence, while Iruma tries to use his accusation as proof he’s lost it. Momota screams back at them, only distantly aware of Harukawa bodily getting in between him and the others to prevent a physical altercation on either side. Iruma takes the defense as an opportunity to ratchet up her insults, and reason is thrown out the window in seconds.

After too many attempts to get past her, Harukawa grabs his shoulders. “You need to calm down.”

“No, Harumaki, you have to—”

“Now.”

Any more protests are overridden as Harukawa announces the two of them will wait outside the virtual world while everyone else explores. Momota can’t help but feel betrayed by her lack of faith in him, and he shoots one lingering worried glance to Ouma, stone faced in the back of the room, completely absent from the conversation about his impending death. 

Outside, Momota practically throws his helmet off of him. Harukawa sighs at the admittedly childish action. “Do you want to explain what that was?”

“That was the truth!” he jumps to his feet. “Come on, you don’t think I would just make stuff like that up, right? We have to get back there, and—”

Harukawa raises a hand to silence him. “Let’s say I do believe you. Kiibo, Shirogane, and Iruma are evil. What do you do want us to do with that information?”

“Uh,” Momota falters. “I mean, I don’t really think they’re ‘evil,’ but—”

“Do you want me to kill them?”

“What? No, of course, I—”

“Look,” she says. “If you really have a bad feeling about them… fine. I can protect you and Saihara, too, I guess.”

Momota can’t help the frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks, but what about Ouma and—”

Harukawa’s gaze answers that question for him. “I don’t think I would save Ouma if he was on fire.”

He knows he should have expected that, but like with Saihara, a part of him knows that he can pull her in whatever direction he wants with enough prodding and smiles. He pushes down the same sick feeling he felt when he had done the same to Saihara, too. “Harumaki,” he pleads. “I know he’s an asshole, but you’re a better person than that. I can’t believe you’d just do nothing when someone—anyone—needed your help. That’s just not you.”

She tugs at her hair. Her, “maybe you don’t me very well,” is halfhearted at best and followed up seconds later with. “Fine, I guess I could help him if you think it’s really important, but,” she shakes her head. “I just don’t know why you suddenly lost your mind over it.”

Given how fast his previous shouting match had gotten out of control, Momota has to admit it’s not an inapt description. Still, it bothers him, and his brows settle into a distinct crease. “It’s not that weird. If you knew someone was in danger of being killed, wouldn’t you—”

“No, I just mean,” Harukawa sighs. “There’s no nice way to put this. Given our situation, you can’t obsess over everyone. I know this is callous, but realistically, there’s going to be more murderers until we can figure out what’s going on. And if Iruma does decide to kill Ouma, then—what? I wasn’t close to them, but I know a lot of the people who have already died were better than them.”

“Harumaki—”

“I shouldn’t think that way, I know,” she says. “But I’ve been trained to cut your losses when you’re in a bad situation, and even if I’m…” she looks somewhere to the side of him, and her hands are in her hair again. “Getting better—just as a person—I still don’t think that’s bad advice.”

Harukawa keeps threading her fingers through her hair, and Momota stares hard at her down turned face. “And those losses being people doesn’t change things for you?”

She shrugs. “Wars have casualties.”

“They shouldn’t.”

“No,” she sighs. “But that’s just how it is.”

It reminds him too much of the way Ouma was talking about the world before. Momota starts to say, “well, why can’t we chan—” before the people around him suddenly start ripping their visors off.

He whips around on his heel automatically to face Ouma’s still body. The others begin the usual panic as Momota pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. Alright that was bad. Can I get a second try?”

He’s answered by suddenly returning to the salon of the virtual world again. Ouma looks a little worse for wear in the corner but otherwise keeps his mouth shut. This time when Momota interrupts Iruma’s explanation, he has his conversation with Harukawa in mind. “Hey Iruma, can I talk to you about something? In private?”

She raises her eyebrows, and he immediately regrets his choice of words. His second attempt at pulling her aside by the arm while the others wander up to the roof is more successful and doesn’t make his ears turn red. 

“There are better ways to cop a feel, you know,” Iruma snaps. “And if you want a quickie that bad, ask your fucking—”

“Shut up! Just—” he looks around the room before lowering his voice. “Look, I know what you’re planning, okay?”

Iruma begins to tremble on the spot, taking a step back from him. “W-What? I’m not planning anything! I’m just trying to—to—”

“I’m not mad!” he says far too loudly to convey his message. “I just… I just wanna tell you that I know you’re not a killer, and this is a really bad idea, and you’re going to seriously regret it as soon as you—”

She screams in his face. “I-I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about!”

“Iruma, just fucking listen to—”

Momota sees her cell phone in her hands, and only has a second to lunge for it before he’s kicked back into the real world. He wastes no time cursing and trying to plug himself back in. He gets as far as the exit to the salon before there’s a circle of light around his feet again. His third attempt tells him he’s failed to connect and should consult with the program administrator. 

With no other options, Momota takes one second to curse, another five to pace and run his hands through his hair, and one more to spy Ouma sitting innocuously in his chair. He says a quick apology if doesn’t work the way he’s hoping it will before running Ouma’s visor off of him. His whole body jerks at the motion, and he lets out a brief strangled noise before going motionless. 

Momota studies him for any other reactions for a horrifyingly silent five seconds. Ouma doesn’t move, and Momota swears again before letting the visor drop to the ground with a loud crack. There’s nothing he can do at this point besides sit by Ouma, feeling his wrist for his pulse and waiting for the inevitable. 

When he feels it weaken to nothing, he says to the empty room, “let me try again.”

Direct confrontation has always been his style, and Momota feels uncomfortable resorting to any other method. Sneaking around causes the same rotten feeling whenever he knows he’s manipulating Saihara or Harukawa to rise up in his gut. He follows along with the script as best he remembers it this time with perhaps a touch more impatience than would otherwise seem natural. Iruma volunteers him for the roof, and he suggests Harukawa. Iruma considers it for a second before shrugging and mumbling too loudly under her breath that that fucking works great, too.

Momota stations himself at the bottom of the stairs and only looks up from his post when Ouma wanders over to him. Before he can open his mouth, Momota snaps, “don’t say it. I’ve already got it figured out this time.”

Ouma hums. “You know if Iruma-chan sees you here, she can log you out, too.”

“Yeah, but Gonta’s guarding outside for real this time. If she shows up, he’ll know something’s weird.”

“And what’s stopping her from logging him out, too?”

“‘Cause it’d be super fucking suspicious?”

Ouma smiles. “Iruma-chan built an entire virtual world that only she can manipulate to murder me, and she didn’t stop to think that being the creator would make her suspect number one. You know, they say you need a fool to outsmart a fool, but I think in this case you’re actually just not foolish enough.”

“Shut up, and no one says shit like that. Who even uses the word ‘foolish?’”

“Aw, come on. I’m a dead man walking. Let me have a little fun.”

“Stop saying that. You’re going to be fine this ti—”

There’s a glow around his feet, and then Momota’s back in the computer room with an equally bewildered Gonta and Harukawa. “Fuck.”

On the fourth try, Momota makes a big deal about how important the buddy system is and ensures he and Ouma are safe in the church together around Saihara and Harukawa as witnesses. Iruma’s grumbling but ultimate acceptance as she joins the group across the river makes him nervous. Momota’s doing the bare minimum in trying to act nonchalant while racking his brain for what he’s missing when there’s a loud slamming against the church’s wall. There’s a brief moment of indecision about where it’d be better to leave Ouma on his own or take him outside before Momota grabs hold of his arm to keep him close as the four leave to investigate the noise. 

If it weren’t for his growing frustration, the sight of a hammer flying through the void and nailing Ouma in the side of the head would be kind of impressive. 

Saihara and Harukawa are both appropriately slack jawed at the sight. Momota says, “Um,” before he’s starting attempt five.

He communicates as discreetly as he’s capable of that Ouma should agree to meet Iruma on the roof this time. Momota volunteers himself for the hallway, and Harukawa to get logged out. He has just enough time to sneak up and mouth “this time for sure” to Ouma smiling warily at him and hide out of sight right before Iruma arrives. 

She’s able to get approximately two words out before Momota rushes her. The previous times he had tackled someone in one of their games had always worked out in his favor minus a stab wound here and a broken nose there, but with the program balancing their strength, he finds they’re less wrestling and more awkwardly struggling against each other. Despite what Ouma would say, Momota does think ahead sometimes, and his focus isn’t on overpowering her. Instead, he’s trying to rifle through her pockets.

Iruma’s screams only get louder and more vulgar once she catches onto what he’s doing, and Ouma takes a few cautious steps back once they collapse to the ground. With Iruma doing her best to bend his arms backwards and away from her, Momota doesn’t have time to think once he feels the edge of something hard in one of her pockets. He grabs it and lurches back, shouting “Iruma Miu!” into it before double checking it’s even the phone.

To his great relief, it is, and a circle of light appears around her. “Thank fucking God,” Momota says allowing himself to stumble over to the roof’s ledge to sit down. 

Ouma kneels beside him. “This will be interesting,” he says while Momota catches his breath. “I’m not quite sure what happens when you’re killed on the outside, actually.”

Momota tilts his head towards him. “What?”

“The bottle of poison she tried to frame you with. It’s closer to me, so she’ll probably poison me first, then you.” He hums. “I’m pretty curious about this experiment actually, so I think I’ll let her poison me, and then reset the simulation before she can—”

“Fuck,” Momota hisses for probably the hundredth time in his five tries. He pulls the phone still in his hand to his mouth and fires off his and Ouma’s names.

Once again, he throws off the visor and leaps to his feet. Unlike before he hears a chocking sound and a scream nearby. Iruma keeps screaming, devolving into panicked apologies as Ouma spits up and heaves on the poison she had been pouring into his mouth. Momota races over, shoving Iruma aside and pulling Ouma out of his chair. 

Iruma is still frantic near him, shouting, “Y-You have to make him throw up! Get him to throw it up!”

“I know!” Momota shouts back. 

Ouma wheezes, “d-don’t put your filthy fingers… in my mouth. Just—just let me die.” If they weren’t already dead, his request might seem dramatic. Instead, he mostly sounds kind of bratty, especially when he adds, “I-I know you don’t w-wash your hands.”

Momota scowls at the comment and stops trying quite as hard to save Ouma’s life. Iruma, by contrast, can’t stop babbling as she tries to help save her would be victim. She dissolves into complete incomprehensibility once Ouma stops moving. Even with his cavalier attitude, Momota still feels bad for Ouma and this death that hits a little too close to reality. 

Mostly, though, his heart lurches for Iruma, shaking and sobbing into her hands. Momota feels all the frustration he had held towards her over Ouma’s game vanish. He gently sets Ouma’s body down, brushing one hand over his face to close his bloodshot eyes as both a mercy to Ouma and Iruma. It’s a testament to her distress that Iruma doesn’t make a signal comment when Momota places a comforting arm around her shoulders. Instead, she curls into him, and Momota presses a hand to her back to try to ease the tremors racking her body.

He wonders, then, if this is the reason why Iruma devised the program world for her murder. It was so much easier to kill when the other person was a virtual avatar or unmoving body. 

Momota had never really liked Iruma when they were alive, but in that moment, he regrets not reaching out to her when he had the chance. He’s also glad this simulation will be over soon. The idea of watching her get executed makes him feel physically ill. 

Iruma does manage to mumble between her apologies, “I-I just… I just wanted to e-escape. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—I—”

Momota doesn’t respond, only continuing to silently comfort Ouma’s murderer. But he does get an idea. 

Ouma must have made the decision to reset on his own. Iruma goes from crying her eyes out to snapping explanations. Momota is mechanical in his acting at best as they go through the motions of exploring the mansion. He doesn’t really want to yell at Iruma anymore, but he does have to throw a bit of a fit to convince the others to explore the woods outside as a group.

He finds the Flashback Light in seconds, turns on his heel, and shines it into the group’s eyes. The reaction is almost the exact same to the one he experienced first hand when the doors at the end of the tunnel had opened. Iruma lets out a piercing shriek and falls to her knees, clutching her head as soon as the memories have finished being implanted. They leave the virtual world with barely a word, and there is no murder that night. 

His victory doesn’t even feel like a hollow one. Everyone moves like zombies back to their rooms except for Ouma who idles beside him. He opens his mouth, and Momota says, “again.”

The seventh time, Momota tries a gentler approach when he pulls Iruma aside. He gives her his best speech about friendship and how he knows deep down she only wants to help people and he believes in her. He says everything that had been in his head since he comforted her over Ouma’s dead body. Ouma is still found dead on the roof, but Harukawa’s been framed instead of him. 

On the eighth, he insists they can all search faster if they stay together as a large group and is promptly called an idiot. 

Momota lets out one aggravated groan as Iruma starts her delegations of how they should split up. He doesn’t have to tackle her this time as he already knows where her phone is. He marches up yanks it out of her pocket and starts rattling off everyone’s names before finishing with his own.

In the computer room, he cuts straight through the general clamor, ready to do exactly what he did the first time but with proof. “I saw Iruma fucking around with this phone in her pocket,” he lies. “She obviously was lying to us about the virtual world.”

Harukawa, ever loyal, is the first to round on Iruma. “You were carrying around something that could just force us out of the program? Why?”

“That is highly suspicious behavior…” Kiibo concedes. “If it was for emergencies, you likely would have just told us about it from the start.”

“Why did you hide something like that from us?” Yumeno demands. “First you lied about the graphics then you lied about—”

With more than one accuser, Iruma crumples and confesses by accident within seconds of her panicked excuses. She says everything else for him, and it’s a unanimous decision for Gonta and Kiibo to escort her back to her room and away from any other potential victims. 

Momota feels a swell of pride in his chest. Then Shirogane says, “that was amazing, Momota-kun. I can’t believe you noticed something like that.”

Harukawa seems irritated by her compliment but chimes in as well, “if you are capable of making observations like that, you should do it more often. Don’t make Saihara do all the work just because he’s your sidekick or whatever.”

“Hey!” Yumeno says. “That’s right. It’s kinda like we have two detectives now.”

“Maybe Saihara-kun is rubbing off on him,” Shirogane says. “Saihara-kun, did you notice anything suspicious about the way Iruma-san was acting?”

Saihara blinks. “Ah—no, not really.”

“Huh?” Yumeno places a finger on her bottom lip, and Momota knows her comment isn’t ill-intentioned but it still makes Saihara wince. “But you’re the Ultimate Detective, aren’t you? Were the other mysteries just easier?”

“I…” Saihara wilts. “Actually, they probably were. I’m still just in training, so…”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Harukawa says. “All this proves is that Momota is actually useful for something sometimes.”

It is an honest gesture on her part to defuse the situation, but Momota sees the damage has already been done as Saihara stares at his feet and tugs his bangs over his eyes. All of the ugly jealousy he had felt before when he has so desperately wished for even a scrap of the praise thrown Saihara’s way feels twice as rotten.

He turns to Ouma. “I’ll… try again.”

Ouma never paused when he issued the request before, but this time he’s met with his strange, neutral expression. “Why?”

“You fucking know why,” Momota mutters darkly. 

He isn’t sure what response he’s expecting out of Ouma, but the words, “you’re not going to find what you’re looking for,” catch him off guard. 

But Ouma still gives him a ninth chance. Momota nudges Saihara to tell him to keep an eye on Ouma. The report he gets back from a trembling Saihara once they’re all gathered around Ouma’s dead body in the computer room is that he walked up to the roof and saw Iruma standing over him with a hammer. Iruma’s sniveling, Saihara’s shaking, and Ouma’s dead.

They reset. By the fifteenth try, Ouma’s humor over the whole situation has started to fade. Momota does have sympathy for him. Getting his head bashed in with a hammer over and over again cannot be fun. But even on the times when he doesn’t, something goes wrong, and Momota can’t bring himself to call it a success. 

On the twentieth try, Momota blinks his eyes open to find they’re on the roof, Ouma perched on the ledge and swinging his legs back and forth. Momota sighs before going to sit beside him. “Did I run out of tries?”

“No, you can keep going if you really want to,” Ouma says. “It’s actually an interesting experiment—can you get brain damage after being dead?”

Momota grimaces. “Uh, yeah. That’s gotta suck.”

“Admittedly not my favorite thing in the world, but that’s not why I called it quits. I just could tell you were getting frustrated. And,” he gestures pointedly to him with one finger, “I did pinky swear to a no-hurting-Momota-chan policy this time around, and you know that I am absolutely a man of my word. Total stickler for promises.”

Momota rolls his eyes. “That the truth?”

“Well, do my pants look like they’re on fire to you?”

Momota shakes his head, a bit amused by the comment, all things considered. They sit in silence, watching the virtual snow fall, and Momota does feel the tension that had been slowly winding up in him start to drain away. 

“I’d have gotten it eventually, you know.”

Ouma hums. “You got it a few times, but you weren’t happy.”

“Those don’t count,” Momota dismisses. 

Ouma waits a second more before leveling his challenge. “You know, sometimes there are no good solutions. You’re probably the kind of person who believes we always have a choice, right? Well, what do you do if all your choices are bad?”

Momota frowns. “Then you look harder.”

“What if you don’t have time?”

Momota’s hands clench into fists. “That the stupid lesson you were talking about trying to teach me?”

“To live is to hurt others,” Ouma says again, smiling to himself. “Nice people hurt other nice people by trying to be nice.” Momota opens his mouth to protest, but Ouma cuts him off. “But you shouldn’t let that get to you. Nothing wrong with existing, you know.”

He kicks his feet back and forth, and Momota watches the pendulum like movements. Ouma giggles, “that’s why I don’t try to be nice at all.”

Momota lets the words linger for a second more. Then, “I don’t think that’s true. I think,” he shifts, crossing his legs and drawing Ouma’s attention away from the abyss around them. “I think you proved my point. Iruma is a good person who doesn’t want you dead deep down, and the others were always really upset whenever you died despite always being an ass to them. They’re good people. All of them.”

“And they hurt each other,” Ouma says, “which was my point.”

“If we weren’t in a fucking killing game, then they wouldn’t have. If things were better, then—”

“But things aren’t always going to be better.”

“And it’s not always going to be shit, either.”

Ouma smiles. “Maybe.”

“So you admit I’m right.”

“Maybe.”

Momota groans. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“And the impossible is possible!” Ouma shouts, waving his hands in the air. “You just have to make it so, right Momota-chan? Just got to break a few Oumas to make an Oumalet.”

Momota puts his head in his hands. “Dude.”

Ouma laughs before getting that strange, forlorn look on his face again as he stares back out at the darkness. “So, after all that you should tell me. What do you think of my solution to Iruma-chan’s problem now?”

Momota does give it a second of consideration more than he would have before. “I still think it was really fucked up.”

“Not going to disagree,” Ouma says. “But after all that, you did understand my point, right? I know you’re very slow—like, let me die almost twenty times slow—but—”

“Something shitty about just accepting that someone’s going to get fucked over when you’re in a bad situation,” Momota says. “Yeah, I got that.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“You’re so fucking stupid.”

Ouma gawks. “Excuse me?”

“Question for you, asshole. You get as many tries at this as you want. You wouldn’t sacrifice Gonta again, would you?”

Ouma’s eyes cool. “If it’s the only way out—”

“But it’s not, and I know you don’t want to do that again so you wouldn’t, so there.”

Momota huffs, crossing his arms over his chest like a child. Ouma raises an eyebrow. “So there what?”

“So when you figure out that something is going to be shitty and hurt someone, you learn and then don’t do it again,” Momota says. “You know, you become a better person and grow up and shit.”

Ouma blinks, then smiles, remembering his own very similar words from before their game. “Nah, I’m gonna be a kid forever.”

Momota rolls his eyes. “You would say that.”

“I would,” Ouma says. “And you did, too.”

It takes Momota a second, but he eventually catches Ouma’s meaning. “Whatever. I still think you’re naïve.”

“And I think you don’t believe in the heart of the cards.”

Momota looks at him like he grew a third arm. “You are a weird fucking guy.”

“Yeah, but would you read manga with me?”

To his own exasperation, the question makes Momota pause. “Fuck, maybe.”

“Do you believe in me?”

Momota studies him a bit harder, but as usual Ouma seems insistent on not giving anything away. “Maybe.”

“What’s the worst thing I’ve ever done to you?”

Momota swallows. He looks down, not at the abyss but the long fall underneath them. The drop wouldn’t kill, but it would hurt and make it hard to go on for long. “You… you gave me some really fucked up choices.” 

Ouma pauses, then follows his gaze to the ground. “I guess I did.”

“You made me a murderer.”

“Yeah.” Ouma can still feel the head of Iruma’s hammer against the top of his skull, but he also thinks he was wrong in thinking he was entering hell before. “I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the funny realization between all the Yu-Gi-Oh references that this fic is basically one big Socratic dialogue, haha. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!


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